Cinder Rose
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Very AU. Rosie is alone. She is without friends and real family. Sam should be happy. He is home and the Shire is getting back to normal. However, his thoughts are often on the lass who he has not seen in over a year, which causes him deep sadness.
1. Things Have Changed

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, places, settings, or anything that is from _Lord of the Rings_! They all belong to the honorable J.R.R. Tolkien, and his Estate, etc. I just invented some of Rosies extended family.

Authors Note: I have taken one of my favorite fairy tales and set it in Middle Earth; starring my favorite hobbit couple. *sigh* I have researched Rosie's family as best I could, and I have only discovered that it seems she had an uncle, Wilcome Will, who was her father's brother. The family tree in my copy of the book does not say if he married or had a family. So the rest of the family is of my own creation. If anyone discovers anything that would say otherwise regarding this, please let me know! Also, does anyone know if they had watches or clocks in Middle Earth? I'm trying to figure out how hobbits told the time. This story is very AU! The time frame of the story does not follow that of the book!

* * *

Cinder-Rose

Chapter One: Things Have Changed

Rosie Cotton sighs wistfully as she finishes hanging up the laundry to dry. It seems like a natural day.

Smoke cheerfully curls up from the chimney of the hobbit hole burrowed in the ground. The ground is covered once again in green grass. Trees are growing stronger and taller once more. Flowers turn their faces up to be kissed by the warm sun. Birds sing again. The Shire at last is slowly starting to look like it once did before Frodo Baggins, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, and Sam Gamgee left. Things will never completely be the same again, but things are definitely getting better.

The sound of young hobbit laughter can be heard from the road. Rosie smiles; the lovely day brings back memories of when she and her brothers would play in the front yard while their mother would sit on a bench, sewing, and watching the children in amusement. Those days were carefree and natural.

"Cinders!" The voice breaks the peaceful spell that Rosie has fallen into. And it reminds her that it is not a natural day like it had been more than a year ago.

"Oh," she gasps and quickly picks up the now empty basket. She rushes around the side of the hole to the pale purple door, which is framed by rosemary and lilies. The laughter of the small hobbit children walking along the road in front of the hole turns to jeering as they spot her. Rosie quickly opens the door and steps inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. She leans against the door and closes her eyes for a minute.

Without looking Rosie knows exactly how the fancy hobbit hole looks. All the rooms are richly carpeted. Paintings hang on nearly all of the walls. The best china and silverware is always used. There is a roaring fire in nearly every room. While the inhabitants of this hole are not quite as rich as Frodo of Bag End, they make sure to let all know of their high status.

Yet this is not home to Rose Cotton. Oh, no. Her family's hole had been much more plain and simple, for they could not call themselves very wealthy, though they were well off. But they had gotten along fine and happily. They had had a simple little garden of vegetables and fruits in the front yard. Their door had been like a piece of the sky which had fallen to earth. Along their white-picketed-fence there had been forget-me-nots, snapdragons, and roses. The backyard had been where Samwise had often played with Tom, Jolly, Nick, and Nibs, her brothers. Wrestling had been one of their favorite pastimes. Their hole had been simply furnished. But it was home. Where so many dear memories that she now held had happened.

Rosie sighs and looks around the room. It is so, so different from home.

* * *

It had been less than three months after the four hobbits had disappeared into the Old Forest and there had been many rumors going around concerning them. The Chief had come to power and the Shire was starting to become a barren wasteland. And Rosie had tried to hope against hope that one day the four hobbits would come walking down the road. And she would see Sam again. But the dream did not come true, and what hope she still clung to began to die.

One day Lily Cotton had suddenly fallen very ill. The proper herbs to treat her could not be found because of the broken trees and crushed bushes and flowers. The Cotton family could only gather around the hobbitess who was their mother and wife, and watch as each day she slipped further and further away from them. It was early in December when they laid Lily to rest in the dark, cold ground. Rosie suddenly found herself as woman of the house. She had to take care of her younger brothers and do all the cooking and sewing and tend the garden while her father and older brother went to market and took care of the animals.

In the early spring Tom Cotton went off for a fortnight to visit some relatives, and left the children at home. He never returned. He was ambushed and beaten and robbed. He was laid to rest next to his Lily.

The Cotton children had then been split up. Tom and Jolly were sent off to Crickhollow. Nick and Nibs were sent to Needlehole to stay with friends of their parents. And Rosie went off to Deephallow to live with their Uncle Wilcome and Aunt May and Cousins Rosemary and Lily. Rosie had tearfully bid her brothers farewell and had not seen them since.

When she had reached Deephallow she discovered that certain things were expected of her. She was considered family, but she did not have to be treated like family. She was given a back room that was not as furnished as the others. Her only belongings were what she had brought with her. She was not given any new dresses; Lily and Rosemary gave her their old tattered hand-me-down dresses. Rosie discovered that she was to be a servant to her aunt and cousins. Her uncle was often away on business. She had to get up when the sun rose. She cooked all the meals, did the sewing and ironing, the washing, the gardening, and going to market.

Things were not the same as before. No longer did she feel loved and cared for. All of those who were dear to her were either gone or far away. Rosemary and Lily despised their cousin and only ordered her around. And when the dresses were nothing but rags, her Aunt May took to having her dress in nothing but trousers and a shirt, which got dirtied from her work. Her brown curls were done up in two simple braids and become dangled and messed. If she had ever seen someone she knew from Hobbiton, they would not have recognized Rosie, she looked so different. She was no longer the pretty little lass with the sparkling eyes, and easy smile. No, she was not Rosie Cotton from Hobbiton. She was now Rose of Deephallow. Cinders, as her aunt sneered. Cinder-Rose, preferably by Lily and Rosemary took to calling her. "Cinders and a rose do not go together!" they would tease her.

But then in the late summer they all had moved to Hobbiton. But not one person knew that the dirty girl that dressed in trousers and a shirt was their own Rosie Cotton. She was forbidden to reveal who she was. And here she was also the cause of many jokes by the children and rude lads.

A few weeks later news spread that the four travelers had returned! Rosie could not believe that it was true. But one day she had caught a glimpse of them. They were alive! How her heart rejoiced.

They had risen up the Shire. The Chief was gone, and his ruffians. And that white wizard was dead. But the land did not look like how it once did. But Sam had restored it. He used his gift from the Lady of Lorien so the rumors went and the land was even more beautiful and plentiful than it had been before.

The fate of the Shire had turned around. Rose wondered not for the first time if her life would ever be more of what it had once been.

* * *

"Cinders!"

Aunt Mays voice causes Rosie to jump, and she hurries to put the basket away and answer her aunts calling.


	2. Aunt May

Chapter Two: Aunt May

Rosie comes to a stop outside the partly closed parlor door. She tucks some strands of her hair behind her ears and tries to smooth the rest of the tangled, braided mess. She quickly glances over her clothes before knocking on the door.

"Enter," comes the slightly muffled, but clear order.

Rosie hesitates slightly, gulps nervously before pushing the door open, and steps into the room. The open windows invite the wind to enter the room. A fire roars in the fireplace – though Rosie notes that it will soon need more wood. Above the mantel hang four paintings: one each of Lily Cotton, May Cotton, Wilcome Cotton, and Rosemary Cotton. Four chairs and a small couch are in various places of the room. A small table is next to one that is closest to the fireplace.  

Sitting in the chair by the fireplace is Aunt May. She is short and a little pump. Her nose is upturned slightly. Her cheeks are flabby. Her large grey eyes shoot fire when she is angry. Her high forehead has wrinkles from nearly always frowning. And her raven black hair – always pulled back in a bun – has wisps of silver in it. Being in her late fifties, she still has, many say, some of her unusual beauty from her youth. But she also is a very stern and sneaky woman.

Rosie stops a few feet from the chair and drops a curtsy, as she does with all her family.

"You called me, Aunt May."   

The only sound in the room is the crackling flames of the fire as May Cotton looks her niece up and down before her grey eyes bore into Rosie's soft brown ones. Rosie holds her aunt's gaze. Aunt May shifts in her chair.

"Yes, Cinders" she says finally, slowly. "I wish to reemphasize that you are forbidden to write to your brothers…or anyone else for that matter." 

Her voice is low and calm but has a dangerous edge to it, and her eyes are starting to become full of fire. Rosie winces inwardly. _My attempt to send the letter must have been discovered, she thought grimly. _

"I trust I will not have to remind you again…." Aunt May's voice interrupts her train of thought. The trailing off of her voice leaves the rest of the warning unsaid. Rosie understands.

"Yes, Aunt May," she answers humbly.

Aunt May nods, then returns gazing into the fire. Another long silence stretches between them. Rosie shifts her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, wondering if the conversation is over. Brown and grey pools clash once again.

"Lily told me she requested over an hour ago that you mend her best dress for tomorrow's night dance. And it is still on her bed, untouched." The ice along with the words drops heavily from Aunt May's mouth. 

Rosie does her best not to shudder under her aunt's gaze.

"No, ma'am –"

"And why is that?"

"I have yet to complete all the chores you told me to do before afternoon tea. I have rewashed the kitchen floor as you requested. Then I did the washing and hung the laundry. And I still have to clean your room. I just finished hanging the laundry when you called," Rosie answers timidly, her eyes lowered. 

Aunt May presses her lips together in a straight line. The wrinkles on her forehead deepen. Her expression is thoughtful, and then relaxed: a solution has been found.

"From now on, when either Rosemary or Lily need something, you will drop _everything_ to do as they bid," Aunt May decides.

"Even if it means my ceasing to do something that you told me to do, not just my regular chores?" Rosie asks for clarification.

Aunt May ponders for a moment, then nods. "Yes. It is important that my two flowers are happy," she adds more to herself than her niece. 

Rosie does not comment, only nods with a "Yes, ma'am."

With a wave of her hand, Aunt May signifies the conversation over and dismisses Rosie. She curtsies once more and turns, taking her leave.

"Oh, and Cinders."

Rosie stops in the doorway and looks back at her aunt.

"When Lily is finished with you, prepare afternoon tea for the three of us."

Rosie silently nods and leaves the room. 

~~~ 

Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews encouraging me to keep writing this story. I hope this chapter was all right, I know its lacking a bit in plot. But there will be a lot more of plot in upcoming chapters. Please continue to let me know what you think.


	3. Reaching for the Moon

**loveofthering****:** I was so tickled by your review. I was giggling the whole time I read it. Where indeed is a Balrog when needed? lol Oh, yes. Sam will rescue Rosie...I think.

**Celebrindal****:** I am glad you "like" Aunt May that much. She will be causing more pains for our dear Rosie.

**DiamondTook3:** I am glad you have enjoyed the story so far. You should be happy with the two chapters I have posted. ;)

* * *

Chapter Three: Reaching for the Moon

Candles all over the Shire are going out. The mood is that of sleepiness. It has been long since the sun has been down. Many have gone to bed and are peacefully asleep.

At the Cotton hole, all candles are out except in Lily's and Rosemary's rooms. Rosie has finished putting up Lily's hair for the night and has moved to Rosemary's room; Lily follows, eager to talk about the latest gossip.

Rosemary sits at a dresser, admiring her reflection in the mirror while Rosie combs her blond hair. Lily is sprawled over Rosemary's large bed, talking about her visit to the market.

"...and there was Mister Gamgee, surrounded on all sides by every young lass that was in the market today. They all were sweet talking, trying to win his attention. He appeared to be very flustered by it all, but he also seemed secretly pleased," Lily tells her story.

The two other hobbitesses listen with great interest. Rosie cannot imagine the Sam that she remembers being flocked by a lot of girls. Just hearing about it seems so unnatural.

"So what did Sam do?" Rosie ventures to ask.

"That's _Samwise_," Lily corrected, everyone calls him that.

Rosie is surprised. Before he left, he was just Sam to everybody.

"Samwise the _Brave_," Rosemary adds. She meets her cousin's gaze in the mirror.

Lily goes on. "I was quite sick by the whole thing. All those girls buzzing like bees around _Samwise_ as though he was honey. I boldly walked up to the group and called out to him. I got many glares from the lasses but ignored them. I took Samwise by the arm and led him away. He was very grateful for my helping him. I told him it was no problem. He said goodbye and then went on his way."

Rosemary sighs. "The four of them Travelers are so handsome -- particularly Frodo and Samwise. Im surprised none of them have gotten married yet."

"Oh, it wont be long," Lily answers. "I heard from Daisy that it seems both Merry and Pippin have had their heads turned by some lasses. Merry has been with Estella Bolger for a while, and Diamond of Long Cleve has caught Pippin's eye. Last I heard both are seriously courting their lasses."

Rosie vaguely recalls meeting Diamond a few times. She had seemed like a sweet and lovely girl. And Estella. Estella had been one of Rosie's closet friends before she had gone off to Deephollow. They had so many wonderful times together. And when her parents had died, Estella's had been the shoulder to cry on.

Rosie comes out of her thoughts at hearing "Samwise" mentioned again.

"It is a pity," Rosemary wrinkles her nose, "even though he has returned as a hero and famous, that he still keeps his simple trade of gardening. He is still employed as Mister Frodo's gardener."

"But despite his humble lifestyle, girls of all classes -- including the very rich, like ourselves -- cluster around him. Evidently, his being known throughout all of Middle-Earth overrides his simple living and work," Lily points out.

Rosemary nods her head, in understanding and agreement, slowly, so as not to disturb her cousin's brushing her hair. "Yes. If he does marry a girl of high status, he will most likely make his home more comfortable."

"I shall do my best to be that lucky lass," Lily decides. "You can make for Frodo." She tosses this statement to her sister.

"To be married to the most famous people of Middle Earth," Rosemary sighs dreamily.

Rosie lays the brush down on the dresser, her task finished. Rosemary's hair shines in the candlelight. Rosemary inspects her hair, is pleased, and dismisses her cousin. Rosie takes a candle and goes to finish the last of her chores before going to bed.

Rosie silently fumes against her cousins. The nerve! Disproving of Sam's trade, as though they had the right in saying what he should and shouldn't do. They're talking as though they were prizes to be picked. And then their calling him Samwise. To her, he was always Sam the gardener -- and her friend. Not that she wasn't impressed by what he and Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had done, no. But now always hearing Sam being called by his full name made him seem as though he was up in the stars, far above her. _Samwise__ the Brave_ was what he was known as outside the Shire. Yes, her cousins are definitely reaching for the moon.

But perhaps he is different than she remembers. He perhaps has changed. Maybe he secretly welcomes all the attention and praise. Maybe he has forgotten all about her.

She has not forgotten him. She has thought of him every day since he and Frodo, Merry, and Pippin disappeared into the Old Forest.

_I wonder what Sam did today_, Rosie ponders as she makes her way down the hallway.

* * *

Don't you just want to tell Lily and Rosemary to back away from Sam?!


	4. This Rose Now Gone

Chapter Four: This Rose Now Gone

_I wonder what Rosie did today_. Sam sighs and gazes up at the night sky that is filled with stars, pausing in his journey home. He has spent an evening at Bag End with the other Travelers, as theyve come to be called: Frodo, Merry, and Pippin.

* * *

They had enjoyed a great supper of mushroom soup and mashed potatoes with bread. Then they had moved to sit on the back porch, overlooking the restored party field. They had enjoyed some Old Toby and watched the sun sink behind the earth.

The conversation had first been of events of the day. Sam shared about his experience at the market and how he had been rescued by a girl. His friends chuckled.

"May this serve as a warning," Pippin said solemnly, "that no matter where we go, we shall always be tried to be married off."

All the hobbits laughed, but Sam sobered first. The smile slowly left his face, and his gaze became glazed as his eyes landed on some of the roses in Frodos garden. Rose. The flowers made him think of Rosie and her brothers -- for the hundredth time.

* * *

When Sam and the others returned to the Shire, his relief and joy was short lived when he discovered how the Shire had changed. Then he took part in the Scouring of the Shire, when all the bad men had been driven out, the Chief disposed of, and Wormtongue and Saruman were no more. So much had happened.

Finally, Sam could really check up on all the friends he had not seen since his hasty departure with Frodo -- and later joined by Frodo's cousins, Merry and Pippin -- from the Shire. He was happy to see them and saddened as he heard stories of what they had been through during the last couple of months.

One night the four Travelers were with the Gaffer, and Frodo remarked that he had not seen any of the Cotton family and asked about them. Thus the Gaffer told them a story that pierced Sam through the heart.

The Cotton family had lost Mrs. Cotton in the winter, and then lost Farmer Cotton soon after. All the Cotton children had taken the lost of their parents very hard -- particularly Tom and Rosie, who were suddenly in complete charge of the family. They were orphans, and their beloved Shire was also crumpling before their eyes. They had drawn closer together to survive. But then they were torn away from each other. Tom and Jolly went to Crickhollow to live with family friends. Nick and Nibs had been sent off to Needlehole also to live with friends of their parents. And Rosie, all by herself, went to Deephallow to live with her fathers brothers family.

Here the Gaffer had paused in his storytelling, and wiped away a tear in the corner of his eye. The other hobbits had only stared at him, wide-eyed, disbelief and sadness clearly written on their faces. Why the siblings could not stay together, the Gaffer said with a shake of his head, he did not know.

Occasional letters came from the Cotton children in Needlehole and Crickhollow, telling of how their lives were, and asking if there had been any news regarding their sister. They never received letters from her, they said. The Gaffer and others had tried sending letters to Deephollow. If Rosie got them, they never knew. She never sent any letters in return. Then a few months ago, those who still sent letters to Deephallow got them back, saying "undeliverable." If Rosie and her relatives were still in Deephallow or had moved elsewhere no one knew.

This story had caused Sam to fall into a greater sadness than he had felt over the Shire. He had hoped to see Rosie soon after his return but had not given much thought to it, for there had been other matters that needed tending to.

Sam could hardly believe it. He had longed to see Rosie so much. No one knew, except for maybe Frodo, that she had been a source of strength and hope to Sam. Many days when he had started to despair of being able to keep going, Rosie's face would come to his mind. And he knew that if he and Frodo failed in their quest...he would not be able to face her. And when he dreamed of her at night...those were when he got his most peaceful sleeps. Yes, she -- and his devotion to Frodo -- was what had kept him placing one foot forward. When it was all over and he was healed in body and soul, his heart longed to see her in the flesh after carrying a dream of her with him for so long. And how he wanted to speak! But then he discovered that his precious rose had been pulled up from the ground and was gone.

Sam's heart felt like breaking.

* * *

Sam started and discovered his friends looking at him with sympathy and sadness. They had noticed his sad mood and what had held his attention. How long had he drifted out of the conversation he was uncertain of.

Pippin spoke first. "Don't stop, Sam. Don't stop dreaming of seeing Rosie again."

* * *

Sam sighs and turns Pippin's words over in his head. Is it too much to dream? He has no idea where Rosie is, and yet he believes he could actually see her again?

His eyes suddenly shine with a secret fire.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, Rose," he whispers softly to the wind.

* * *

Finally we have the entrance of Samwise the Brave. I felt like crying while I wrote this. *sniff* Poor lad. Anyway, please review and tell me your thoughts.


	5. Dark, Lonely Night

Chapter Five: Dark, Lonely Night

_Come on! Estella cries, dragging Rosie by the hand behind her._

_Rosie smiles and allows herself to be pulled onto the dance floor and lines up with the other lasses, ready to start the first dance of the evening. Across from the lasses are the hobbit-lads, also waiting to start. Frodo Baggins stands right in front of her. He smiles warmly at her._

_"Good evening, Rosie," he greets her._

_"Good evening, Frodo," Rosie says in return. She also returns his smile with one of her own._

_The music starts, and Rosie smiles with pleasure as she gets caught up in the music. She first dances with Fatty Bolger, then with Brandy Took, followed by Ted Sandyman, and a bunch of other lads, all eager for the honor of a dance. Rosie takes a break from dancing and scans the crowds. Her eyes light up as they come to rest on a table near the dance floor. Sitting at it is Sam with a mug -- of ale, probably -- and Frodo._

_Rosie is about to go over to them, but another lad asks for a dance. She grants it, a little resigning. She can go to Sam after this dance. The lad keeps her for three dances before she can finally escape._

_She starts toward the table where the hobbits are, but she stops short. They are no longer there. Only the mug still rests on the table. Puzzled, Rosie looks about as much as she can but does not spot either of them. She moves about the party field, searching in vain for them, and then backtracks to the dance floor. She suddenly realizes that she has not seen Merry or Pippin either._

_Someone taps her on one of her shoulders, startling her. Spinning around, Rosie finds herself face to face with Sam. He smiles shyly down at her._

_"Sam!" she exclaims in surprise._

_"Hello, Rosie", he says in greeting. He pauses uncertainly. "Would you care to dance?" he asks softly._

_Rosie smiles happily at him. "I would love to," she answers._

* * *

_Rosie has lost track of how long she has been in Sam's arms. It has seemed like a blessed eternity. She could let herself drown in his blue eyes for all the ages._

_Suddenly the music halts abruptly. Everyone stops dancing. Rosie looks about in puzzlement. The crowd parts on one side of the dance floor. Through the parted hobbits appear Aunt May and Uncle Wilcome. They step toward Rosie._

_"It is time to go home," her uncle says in a strange, low voice._

_Rosie pales. "What? I don't want to!"_

_Her Aunt May comes and roughly grabs her by the hand. She starts dragging her off the dance floor._

_"No! Let me go!" Rosie cries. "Sam!"_

_She looks over her shoulder. Everyone's gaze is turned away from her. Sam has disappeared._

_Sam._

* * *

Rosie jerks awake. She looks around her room with wild eyes before she lets her head fall back on the bed. She is covered in sweat. Her heart races crazily. She shakily gets out of her bed and opens her small window, trying to cool herself with the night air, and attempts to gather her thoughts. _It was only a dream, a horrible dream_, she tells herself several times in an attempt to calm down.

As she leans against the sill gazing at the sleeping countryside, a wave of sadness slowly washes over her. She tries to remember as much as she can about her old life, before she was taken away from everything and everyone dear to her. One by one, she brings to mind a picture of her brothers, parents, and friends. Memories of sweeter days come to her: when her ma had made for her a crown of daisies when she was about six; riding in the wagon with her pa to the market; watching her brothers partake in many wrestling matches with each other; playing with the Gamgee children nearly every day... Slowly hot tears roll from Rosie's eyes and slide down her face. Quiet, bitter sobs rock her body as she buries her face in her arms. Her heart aches in her chest. She does not know how many minutes pass before all her tears are finally spent. The weariness slowly drops from Rosie's shoulders. She raises her head and gazes up at the night sky. Rosie sighs, a feeling of peace settling over her. Closing the window, she returns to her bed and drifts back to sleep.

* * *

Sam cannot sleep. First he turns one way, then the other. But he cannot get comfortable. Giving up finally on falling asleep at the moment, Sam shifts so that he is leaning against the hardboard of the bed, allowing a good view out the window at the star-filled sky, and at last he lets his thoughts wash over him. He thinks about the last party he attended before leaving the Shire. It had been Bilbo's 111th birthday party.

* * *

When Sam had arrived, the party was in full swing. He got some ale and then sat at a table by the dance floor. His eyes glanced over the dancers when they alighted on a figure. Sam's jaw had dropped.

There, happily dancing to the festive music, was Rosie Cotton. She wore a lovely blue dress that looked stunning on her. Her brown curls fell just past her shoulders. There was an adorable smile on her face. The sight of her caused Sam to catch his breath and stare and stare and stare.

"Why, hello, Sam!" Frodo's voice, filled with amusement, sounded close by.

Sam whipped his head around to face Frodo. His friend smiled at him, and then tried to pinpoint what had captured Sam's attention. His smile widened into a grin.

"Did you see Rosie out there? She looks quite lovely, if you ask me."

Sam blushed and mumbled something that Frodo couldn't make out.

"Why don't you ask her for a dance?"

"I-I don't know," Sam was flustered.

"Then I'll ask her to dance!" Frodo proclaimed.

Sam only had time to gasp in disbelief before Frodo was at Rosie's side, requesting a dance.

Sam turned away, not wanting to watch.

* * *

Sam smiles to himself. _What a foolish hobbit you are sometimes, Samwise. Making the poor lass wait all night for a dance with you. You do worry too much once in a while._

And that night was when he had gotten his very first kiss from any lass. It had been a very featherlike brush of Rosie's lips on his cheek, but he had felt like a prince at that moment. And the way she had looked at him before going off... Sam sighs happily at the memory.

Then he thinks of the last time he saw Rosie. He and Frodo were leaving the Green Dragon, and Rosie wished them good night. Sam had held her sparkling gaze for a moment before reluctantly turning away. Then Rosie got all sweet with that Ted Sandyman. Just watching from a way's off, Sam had wanted to pound the hobbit's face into the ground. He wondered if Rosie had really meant anything by the kiss she had given him on the cheek. He had turned back to the Green Dragon and saw Rosie watching. The smile and light from her eyes were gone. In its place was a look of worry and sadness...and longing? He had wanted to go back and find out what was amiss. But he had just continued on with Frodo. And the expression on Rosie's face, the last time he looked at her, had haunted his dreams.

Finally feeling tired, Sam burrows under the covers and falls asleep. His dreams are of him and Rosie turning round and round in each other's arms.


	6. Seven Nights of Dancing

Author's Note: I have it that Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are close in age like in the movie, instead of as in the books, having the long age differences between them. 

~~~ 

**Celebrindal:** No offense taken, fear not. For me Monday mornings are very tiring. But the week-evenings are worst 'cause then I am drained after doing 5 + hours of school on the computer and then of course my muse is practically asleep so it is a struggle to keep on working on my stories. Thank you for your enthusiasm regarding this story. I am very glad you are still enjoying it. I hope you don't mind Rosie not making an appearance in this chapter.

**Paper Crane:** I am glad you like the story so far. It is sort of bittersweet. There is a bit of humor in this chapter which I personally enjoy. And yes, Sam and Rosie will eventually meet, they have to! I am still working out the details regarding their encounter, so we will simply have to wait and see. :) 

**Arwen**** Baggins: Thanks for the word regarding "Mithril." I have read it, just haven't yet reviewed, which I _will do!_ Aunt May is indeed wicked. It has been very interesting for me writing a "real" villain. Sam and Rosie will get back together….I think… **

**loveofthering**:** Hello again! I am glad you liked the last chapter. When someone says what they liked about a certain chapter that puts all my uncertainness and doubts about it to rest. (The last chapter was originally two chapters but then I thought it would work better to put them together.) So I thank you. I hope too that Sam will find where Rosie is and take her away. **

~~~  

Chapter Six: Seven Nights of Dancing

Several days later…

Frodo pours the warm steaming tea into two cups before setting the pot down on the table. He sits across from Sam at the kitchen table. They sit in silence for a while, just sipping their tea. The peaceful silence is shattered as Merry and Pippin barge in through the back door, causing the door to bang against the wall.

"Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took!" Frodo says sternly, fixing the two with a mock scowl. 

Pippin does not wipe the huge grin off his face. "Hello, cousin. Hello, Sam," he greets the two cheerfully.

Sam looks back and forth between the just arrived hobbits. "You look as though you're going to burst," he says, and fights to keep a grin from creeping onto his own face. "Are one of you engaged?"

Both hobbits' faces turn red, but they shake their heads.

"We have heard some news…" Merry's voice trails off; his eyes are sparkling with excitement.

Frodo brings two more saucers and cups to the table. "What news?" he asks as he pours tea for his cousins. 

Merry plops down on the bench next to Sam. "We've heard that the Mayor is planning a celebration."

"To celebrate the restoration of the Shire," Pippin pipes in.

"It is going to be a festival, held in the party field. Everyone in the Shire is invited to come."

Frodo gasps. "I doubt the party field could fit all the hobbits of the Shire!"

Pippin waves his hand. "Well, the festival is supposed to last seven nights; so there is a chance."

"Seven nights!" Sam breathes softly. 

"There will be games, food, and lots of singing and dancing," Merry says. "Seven nights of dancing…" A dreamy expression comes over his beaming face.

"_And_," Pippin pauses, gazing into Frodo's and then Sam's eyes for a moment, "it is rumored that a handful of hobbits will receive personal invitations to attend the celebration each night, as special honored guests."

He then folds his arms across his chest and watches as understanding dawns on his friends.

"U-us?" Sam stutters in amazement.

Frodo groans and buries his face in his hands in a gesture of mock despair. "And we shall be surrounded by hundreds of lasses with each step we take." He raises his head and gives his cousins a piercing look. "Unlike you two who will enjoy the festival in peace because all shall stay away from you since you're already taken!" 

Merry laughs so hard that he causes the bench he and Sam are sitting on to tip over.

~~~ 

Thoughts and comments are most welcomed.


	7. Surprises

Chapter Seven: Surprises

Rosie pauses in the road and glances at the yellow door behind a small fence. She rocks on the balls of her feet as she debates with herself. She looks down the road and then back towards the door. She really should keep on going. She feels the heavy basket on her arm remind her further of the need to return home. She will need to start fixing dinner very soon. But... Rosie tosses her head, a decision made. She will take a few minutes. With a sure step she crosses to the fence and swings open a gate. She then walks up the dirt path a little way to the door. She is just about to raise her hand to knock when the round door swings open. A head and then a body pop out from behind the door. They step forth from the shadows, and sunlight kisses the old wrinkled face. But Rosie thinks them beautiful, with their sparkling eyes and always ready smile. They are a couple of inches shorter than the lass. But even in their good old age they are filled with spirit, not wanting to be fussed over but fussing over those whom they call friends. Rosie smiles in return and now is thankful she decided to spare a couple of minutes.

"Hello, Rose. I was hoping you would visit today."

A returning smile spreads over Rosie's face. "Good day, Miss Willow."

"Come in, come in!" the hobbitess says excitedly, beckoning her guest to enter. Rosie steps inside and follows the hobbitess through the hallway and into the kitchen. She sits herself on a bench at the table, setting down her basket at her feet. She folds her hands and smiles happily, contentedly, as her gaze wanders around the room. The small kitchen is clean and cheerful-feeling. Sunlight pours through the window. Being here is a taste of what her old home was like when she had a real family... Rosie shakes her head. Here she feels a little freedom. The loneliness and rejection and lack of love seem a little lighter. And the memories are more cheerful.

"May I help you...?" Rosie inquires, finally noticing her hostess fluttering about the kitchen like a butterfly free from its cocoon.

She starts to rise from her seat only to have Miss Willow put both of her hands on the younger one's shoulders and firmly push her back down.

"There is nothing you can do better than just to relax and allow me to prepare some tea," she answers in a kind tone which welcomes no arguing. Rosie complies. She watches Miss Willow work. _She is such a gentle soul, though filled with spirit_, Rosie muses, smiling to herself.

* * *

She walks to the stand and shifts the basket from one arm, which is growing numb, to the other. She tries to ignore the fact that those also at the stand have grown silent and watch her with curiosity, while trying not to stare. She has been here many times, and the reactions are just about the same as the first time she came. Only now instead of just stares, there are laughs -- and rudeness. But there is also more attention because of that stir her aunt caused last week over how she was being charged more than was fair. Now all knew that they should not try to get more out of her servant, or there would be a storm.

She peers with a sharp eye at the mushrooms and taters. She nods, slightly pleased at the freshness of the vegetables. She waits until two other customers have gotten their purchases before approaching the hobbitess and lad who stand behind the stand. She recognizes the lad, for he is the son of the woman who runs the stand. But the lass does not recognize the woman who is with the lad today, for she is not his mother. The hobbitess looks and smiles at her with a real smile -- not a forced or nervous one like others give to her.

"Good morning!"

"Good morning," the lass greets in a low, shy voice.

The lad only openly stares at the lass with an unkind expression on his face. She quickly looks away and simply asks for how many mushrooms and potatoes she wants. She then hands the woman some silver pieces. The lad is asked to give the lass change. The lass extends her hand. For a moment the lad and lass look each other in the eye before he dumps the change in her hand; some falls short and clatters to the floor. He smirks. Her face burning, though no one can tell, the lass kneels and picks up the coins. She blinks in surprise as the lad is scolded for his behavior. The woman then turns to the lass.

"I apologize. Sometimes he just needs to use his manners more often."

The lass raises an eyebrow in doubt, for he appears to be no younger than herself. But she simply nods and lets the incident pass; she has had worse experiences. She then puts her purchases in the basket. She is about to turn away when a voice stops her.

"What is your name, child?"

The lass is silent for a moment, then looks the hobbitess in the eye, and says, "Rose."

The woman smiles and nods her head in approval. "A lovely name," and gives her another smile.

Both the lad and lass blink in shock. She gives a hesitant nod of thanks, stunned. Those are the first truly kind words that have been spoken to her in this place. She is touched.

"Thank you," the lass says aloud.

"I hope perhaps to see you again," the older one says.

"I hope so, too." And the lass means every word.

* * *

Rosie drains the last of her tea. She savors the sweet, yet slightly bitter taste, as it smoothly goes down her throat. She smiles at the old hobbitess, who returns to the table, and at the bittersweet memory of their first meeting.

"Thank you again, Miss Willow," Rosie says, "for, well, everything."

"I am delighted you stopped by, child," the woman answers, setting a plate of cookies on the table. "And you are welcome," she says with understanding.

Widow Willow has been without her husband for over five years now; they never had children. This is why she opened her arms to Rosie -- not only because she was like a daughter, but also because she seemed to be alone. She insists on Rosie calling her "Miss" Willow. "It makes me feel younger," she says with a clear laugh.

Widow Willow helps once in a while at her sisters fruit stand in the market. That is where she and Rosie met and became friends. She is the only one who looked on her with kindness and pity.

Only recently has Rosie started paying Widow Willow a visit once in a while on her way home from the market. She sees her as a mother figure to her. She unknowingly gives Rosie a little of what she received before she was separated from her brothers and before her parents died.

Widow Willow only knows as much as everyone else does about Rosie, namely, that she is a servant to the Cotton family. As far as anyone can tell, she does not have any family. And she goes by "Cinder-Rose." Widow Willow prefers to simply call her Rose, as she had first introduced herself that day at the market.

And having Rose visit brings some cheer into Widow Willow's own life.

"Help yourself," she adds, motioning to the cookies.

Rosie takes one, bites off a piece, and chews slowly. She lets the texture and flavor melt in her mouth. She smiles.

"This is wonderful," she praises.

"Thank you," the woman says, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, which makes Rosie love her all the more, and sits across from her. Soon there is merry laughter floating out the open kitchen window.

* * *

Rosie rises from table. It is later than she thought. She must go home.

"Thank you again, Miss Willow," she says, smiling.

Widow Willow cleans the table of the now empty plate and saucers and cups.

"Thank you for stopping by, Rose. You are welcomed here anytime," she answers.

Rosie picks up the basket full of the items she bought at the market and makes her way to the door. Widow Willow hands her another slightly large basket. Rosie takes it with a questioningly look.

"This is for you. Since I have no daughters to dote on..."

"Thank you," Rosie breathes, wondering greatly what's inside.

Widow Willow smiles and opens the door for Rosie. "Take care, dear."

* * *

Sam hums a song under his breath as he trudges down the road. It is a song that he heard Frodo sing soon after he, Frodo, and Pippin left Hobbiton for Crickhollow. When they did not know what they would face on their journey, nor how long they would be gone.

He absently glances at the surrounding view. Rolling hills are starting to darken as the sun sets. The forest grows quiet as animals scurry to their homes. Sam smiles, but it lacks emotion. He is home, back to the place he loves and missed. But now that he is here, he wonders if he really is home. For his heart feels empty. _Was it really the Shire I always looked forward to returning to? To seeing again?_ he wonders to himself. He starts humming again before trailing off. _What road am I following? What is there for me? I thought I knew where I would travel, but things are different now...and some which I wish were not so._

Sam sighs deeply and raises his eyes. Coming toward him is a figure. _It is a lad_, he realizes. As they get closer, Sam smiles, though he cannot clearly see the others features.

"Good evening," he says politely when they have almost passed each other.

"Good evening," is the low reply. The lad nods his head.

Sam returns the nod and softly starts to sing.

"The road goes ever on and on..."

* * *

*grins broadly*


	8. Between Father and Son

Author's Note: I am back! After taking a little trip to Narnia and Neverland I have returned to Middle Earth. Here we go!

~~~ 

Chapter Eight: Between Father and Son

"Sam, lad," the Gaffer stops his son as he prepares to leave.

Sam looks questioningly at his father seated at the table. He studies the face of his only surviving parent. The hard year of the Chief's reign has taken its toll on the Gaffer. His face is more lined with age. He has a harder time getting around. Perhaps soon he will also pass away. This unexpected thought brings tears to Sam's eyes, which he blinks back.

"You all settled in up at Bag End?"

Frodo opened his large home to his friend several months ago. Just recently Sam accepted, with his father's consent and Widow Rumble promising to look after the old gentle hobbit. But Sam would visit his old man as much as possible.

"Yes, sir. Frodo has provided me with more than I need."

The Gaffer nods; he pauses before voicing his next question. "You are planning on going back to Deephallow, son?" His voice is gentle and soft. He watches his son's face closely.

Sam sighs. He has been to Deephallow several times in attempts to find out about Rosie and her relatives. All the trips have nearly been without success. The only news he could gather was that a family with the name Cotton had moved awhile ago. No one knew where the family was now. Each time Sam had returned to Hobbiton more discouraged than the last time.

"No, I am not going to Deephallow," Sam answers in a low tone. 

The Gaffer regards his son with sympathy. "You still think about her." Both know who _her_ is. 

An expression of great sadness washes across Sam's face – which he usually masks whenever Rosie is mentioned or implied. But this time he does not hide it. The pain in his troubled blue eyes is heart-wrenching.

He meets his Gaffer's eyes. His own eyes, full of unshed tears, are sparkling like diamonds. 

"Nearly every day she crosses my mind briefly like a feather-light touch. At night she sometimes runs through fields and streams, imploring me to chase her. Other times she begs for me to come back to her. And other nights I remember all the times I saw her before I left." 

"You aren't interested in any other lass," the Gaffer states simply.

"No." Sam holds his Gaffer's gaze. "I never have and never will be interested in any other lass."

"You will hold to that, even if you never see her again?"

"Yes, sir. I don't know how I could not keep my promise."

The Gaffer shifts slightly. "I am just worried about you not having anyone to comfort you if I…leave soon."

Sam understands perfectly. "I will be all right, sir. I will," he reassures.

The Gaffer nods, giving his approval. "I'm-I'm proud of you, son. Just don't break any of those lasses' hearts at the festival," he says seriously.

"That may happen anyway," Sam mumbles. He then smiles. "Thank you for your understanding and blessing." 

The Gaffer finds himself blinking back tears. He rises slowly from the table. Sam comes to him, and the two shares a warm embrace.

~~~  

Author's Note: Short, I know. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. Please continue letting me know what you think.


	9. Of Musings, Gifts, and a Candle

Authors Note: Yep, another update already. Today is an in-service day at school so I have no work! *dances happily about* So, I was able to do the next chapter. I wish to thank all everyone who has encouraged me to keep writing this -- a particular thank you **to loveofthering, DiamondTook3**, and **Celebrindal** (congratulations on not being too lazy today ;D). You three have just about reviewed every chapter.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Of Musings, Gifts, and a Candle

Rosie bids her cousins good night before leaving them. Aside from the giggling voices of Lily and Rosemary that drift from the closed door into the hallway, the house is completely silent. Aunt May has retired earlier than usual to her bed; she had complained of a headache. This had made Aunt May only grumpier and short-tempered, even with her daughters on whom she dotes.

Rosie makes her way to the kitchen. She still has to clean the dishes, tidy the room, and plan the meals for the next day before going to bed. Not that she plans on going right to bed once she is free...

Rosie washes the dirty dishes in water before rubbing soap on them to get them all clean. She works much more slowly than usual. She pauses in her rubbing to gaze absently out the window into the darkness before returning to her work with a slight jerk. Finally, she dries the dishes and stores them in the cupboards. She wipes the table and counter with an extra rag. She starts sweeping the floor but slowly comes to a halt.

She replays the scene another time in her mind: The afternoon sun played in his hair. His face seemed haunted with shadows from the horrific things he had encountered on his journey. His mouth was turned down with sadness. Pain was in his eyes. He was much thinner than she remembered -- he had been a little chubby. But she also saw that it seemed that the innocence was gone from his eyes; he now knew about troubles and sorrows that he had not seen before leaving the Shire. This was the famous Samwise the Brave.

Just remembering the surprise encounter causes Rosie's heart to race. She had been so shocked when she realized it was he. She had never seen him so close before. She had nearly called out but remembered her aunt's demand. She had then been ashamed to be seen in her inappropriate dress and looked at the ground as they neared. How sweet his voice sounded! It had been so long since she had last heard that voice that she loved. And when he smiled, she saw a little of the old Sam. She had been in an air of disbelief the rest of the way home. She was half glad and half sad that he did not recognize her.

_I wonder if any lass has caught his fancy._ The thought scares Rosie. But she cannot help wondering. Giving herself a mental slap, she hurries with the rest of the sweeping so she can go to sleep.

* * *

Rosie carefully sets the candle on the floor; the flame flickers but does not die out. Rosie pulls the basket Ms. Willow gave her out from under her bed. Now curious, she opens the basket and peeks inside. Her eyes widen in surprise; then she reaches in and pulls out a yellow dress. Rosie sharply draws in her breath as she examines the dress. She fleetingly brushes her fingers against the lovely cloth.

"Yellow, Sam's favorite color," she remarks absently to the candle, her only companion. The candle answers by glowing more brightly, perhaps a bit insulted by the remark. "Now why did I just say that? Sam, Sam, can I think of nothing else this night?" Rosie scolds herself. She notices the irked candle and quickly makes amends. "But the yellow of your flame is lovely also, mixed with orange and red, too." She smiles at the candle sweetly.

She then quickly and gently folds the dress and puts it back inside the basket.

"What have I done to deserve such a gift?" Rosie whispers wonderingly to the candle, resting her hands on her legs and shakes her head. Her companion, which is not interested in such conversations, only flickers once warningly.

"Now don't go asleep just yet!" Rosie rebukes the candle. "I am not quite as ready as you are." She pushes her basket -- her treasure chest she silently names it -- back into its hiding place. She then quickly changes into her nightgown and then settles herself as comfortably as she can in her bed. She pulls her blanket close around her and then gives the impatient candle her best stern look.

"Come, now, surely you have been more patient before, no?" She sighs as the candle makes shadows dance on the walls." You mean to tell me you have never pined for someone? Or daydreamed for hours on end? Or thought there was something more interesting waiting for you?"

Her companion loses its temper, glowing all the more brightly, giving Rosie a piece of its mind.

"Yes, I have to agree anything would be more interesting than your having to listen to me, sounding like a lovesick lass," Rosie nods, feeling sorry for the poor thing. "I shall not keep you up any longer."

The candle seems to smile by dimming before it completely goes out from Rosie's blow.

"Good night."

Smoke trails up from the wick.


	10. Will Not the Time Fly?

Chapter Ten: Will Not the Time Fly?

* * *

*day 1*

"Lily, you must stay still!"

"I cannot help it, Mother! I'm just so excited. Cinders! Be sure to double-check your measurements! My dress must fit perfectly, like a dream..."

"Yes, Lily," Rosie mumbles over the pins between her teeth. She is in Rosemary's room with both her cousins and aunt. She is getting measurements for making the lasses' dresses for the upcoming festival.

"Well, if the dress does not fit you right, it will be your fault because you kept wiggling and all," Rosemary scoffs, impatient for Rosie to measure her.

"Mother!" Lily whines, looking at the hobbitess who watches all with large sad eyes from the doorway, and then shoots daggers at her sister, who glares back.

"Now, girls, girls! It will not do to have such looks on your faces. You will quickly have lines and wrinkles on your lovely faces."

Lily and Rosemary instantly turn towards their mother with the faces of angels. "Yes, Mother," they answer in unison.

Rosie gets up from the floor, measuring tape in her hands. "All right, Lily, I have finished." She then turns to her other cousin.

"Did you double-check the measurements?" Lily asks.

"Did you write the measurements down?" Aunt May demands at the same time.

"Yes, Lily, I have rechecked the measurements three times. And I have written down the measurements right here, Aunt May," Rosie answers, holding up a piece of paper that was resting on the floor.

Aunt May nods in approval. Rosie then turns her attention to Rosemary and starts taking down measurements. Lily twirls; a dreamy sigh escapes her lips. She then goes to a box, lifts up a dark blue cloth, and presses it to her chest. She moves to the full-length mirror in a corner of the room and examines her reflection.

"It matches my eyes perfectly," she says delightedly.

Rosie glances over at her cousin, her eyes landing on the cloth. She is reminded of the dress she once had, also a shade of blue...at a party, and she had danced with... Rosie shakes her head and quickly finishes taking Rosemary's measurements.

"Green is more my color," Rosemary comments.

"Oh, it seems like the festival will never come!"

"Why does the time not fly?"

"Now, girls, if the time sped, Rosie would not complete your dresses in time. And you want to look your best," Aunt May says.

"Oh! To have a dance with the famous Frodo Baggins or Samwise Gamgee!" Lily exclaims.

Rosie shakes her head. The next few days will be long as she sews her cousins dresses and helps them prepare. The festival will be the only thing talked about in the hobbit hole -- and possibly the Shire.

"Well, don't just stand there, girl! You must start making my two angels' dresses immediately!" Aunt May commands.

Rosie only nods as she picks up the boxes with the cloth. Lily turns away from the mirror and adds the blue cloth to the pile.

"Off with you now!" Rosemary retorts, trying to hurry her cousin out the door.

* * *

*day 5*

"Oh, Mother, I heard some girls at the market today talking about Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck, and Pippin Took." Rosemary is shaking with excitement.

"They are talked about every day at the market! I have heard how quite a few girls follow them around, hoping to impress them!" Lily interrupts.

"Mother!"

"Now, Lily, let your sister talk. Go ahead, dear."

"Thank you." Rosemary pauses to glare at her sister across the table. "Well, it seems that the four famous hobbits are going to attend the festival on all seven nights!"

"Oh, may we go all seven nights, Mother?!"

"But our dresses...!" Rosemary protests, perplexed.

"What about them?"

"Mother only bought enough fabric for each of us to have three dresses."

"You mean we were only going to go to the festival three nights, Mother?" Lily turns to May.

"Well, we can go the entire week if you wish, my dears," May answers her daughter.

"But what shall we wear?!" Lily wonders worryingly.

"I know, Lily! We can have Cinder-Rose take some of our old dresses, unfix them, and put on new lace and whatever else we want. They would be just like new!" Rosemary exclaims excitedly.

"Brilliant thinking, my dear!" May praises.

"I probably could have thought of that," Lily grumbles.

Rosemary ignores her sisters mutterings. "Cinders!"

* * *

*day 11*

"And 1, 2, 3! 1, 2, 3! 1, 2... Stop, stop!"

The tired dance teacher -- he has been to several hobbit holes, teaching the new dance to many young hobbits -- wrings his hands.

"Miss Lily, it is step, hop, then turn. Not step, turn, and hop. Now, one more time from the beginning."

"By the time the festival comes, my feet will be too numb to dance," Rosemary mutters under her breath.

* * *

*day 18*

"Aunt May, may I attend the festival?" Rosie asks timidly.

May raises her eyebrows and looks at her niece from head to toe and then vice versa carefully. "Why would you desire to go to the festival, Cinders? To see your old friends? Would they even recognize you, in your clothes and dirty hair? You will be the laughingstock of the festival. And you would disgrace the family. We are admired for showing you charity, but to allow you there..."

"I could try to stay out of sight."

"Hm, we shall see. Right now there are more important things that we must concern ourselves with."

"Yes, Aunt May."

* * *

*day 25*

"Are you certain you wont tire yourself with attending the entire festival, Mister Frodo?"

"I believe I will be fine, especially with having you around, my boy. It will be nice to have a party in the party field again."

"Aye," Sam says softly.

Frodo glances at his friend and sees Sam with a glazed expression on his face. "Sam?"

_"Sam.."_

"Sam!"

Sam jumps and blinks curiously at his master several times.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Frodo asks, peering into Sams face with concern, though he half-guesses what the matter is.

"Nothing, Mister Frodo," Sam whispers. "Just memories."

* * *

*day 30*

"Walk forward, 1, 2, 3! And turn twice. Then walk back. Then dip--"

Thud!

"Ow."

"Lily!"

Uh, uh, turn from your partner... Just once...!

CRASH!

"Oops!"

"Rosemary!"

"Cinder-Rose!!!"

* * *

IMPORTANT (!!!) Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the reviews, they are a big encouragement to me. Okay, here is where I need help. I was going to write a chapter or two about the first four nights of the festival, but have had terrible writer's block; nothing is coming. So I need your opinion and vote: should I try to ride this writer's block through and write about the first half of the festival? Or should my next chapter be when Rosie goes to the festival? Which ever opinion has the most favored votes will be the one I will try to do. So please let me know what you think.

~Rosa Cotton~


	11. All Your Life You’ll Dream of This Lovel

Chapter Eleven: All Your Life You'll Dream of This Lovely -- Though Not for All -- Night

The sun sets, its last rays disappearing over the rolling hills. Swirling colors of purple, orange, and pink fill the sky before night claims its turn to look down on the Shire. The stars twinkle forth and gaze delightfully down on the festival getting into full swing.

The paper lanterns of a variety of colors are lit, lighting up the Party Field. There are dozens of tents set up. There are games at some, food at others, products for buying at others, and some just for hobbits to sit and enjoy pleasant talk with some ale. A huge makeshift dance floor is near the young oak tree that stands where the old Party Tree once did. Under the tree are tables at which the important families of the Brandybucks, Tooks, and the Mayor and, of course, the guests of honor -- the Travelers -- are to eat.

Hobbits have been arriving all day, but the waves of them appear as the cool air of the evening is felt, as summer hints of creeping away. They come in groups of five to as large as forty. From near and far they skip along to the tune the festive music the band plays.

Lily and Rosemary are in awe by the sights, noises, and smells around them.

"I cannot believe we are finally here!" Rosemary whispers in astonished joy, holding onto her mother's arm as they make their way past several hobbits, stationed to greet all the arrivals, and step onto the field.

"So long have I waited for this to come! It is almost too beautiful to be real," Lily breathes, eyes wide as she soaks up everything around her.

Indeed, it seems to all the hobbits gathered here that they see the Party Field in a new light. Everything seems more...fresh, bright, alive, new. Why it seems this way, they do not know, perhaps because before there was no freshness, brightness, aliveness, newness. Maybe this is part of the reason...but the Travelers know there is more. For did not the soil which Sam used to restore the Shire come from the Lady of Lorien's own garden? But, sadly, many of the folks of the Shire will never completely know or understand all that the Travelers endured for them -- for all Middle Earth -- and how much they owe them.

May is also taken in but brings her daughters back down to earth.

"Now remember what I told you," May says.

Both girls nod knowingly. "Shall we find you when the festival ends for the night?" Lily asks. After receiving a nod of consent from her mother, she then grabs her sister by the arm and drags her toward the dance floor.

They look around for a glimpse of the four famous hobbits as they go.

"They should be here," Rosemary muses aloud.

"I'm so glad Mother did not let Cinder-Rose come," Lily softly says.

"Do not speak that one's name! It would be a complete disgrace if she came here."

"Aye," Lily agrees.

"Look!" Rosemary gasps, pointing. "There!"

A swarm of lasses huddle near tables set under the "new" party tree. Frodo Baggins is leading a pretty young hobbitess off the dance floor and bows politely to her before taking the arm of another waiting girl. Upon further investigation, Lily spots Samwise Gamgee with a lass on the dance floor.

"Come on!" She drags her sister by the arm toward all the excitement. Soon they reach the edge of the large group.

"What is going on?" she inquires of one hobbitess.

"Everyone is waiting for a dance with Mister Frodo or Samwise the Brave," the plump lass answers.

"How long is the waiting?" Lily wonders

"Who knows? When your number is called, then it is your turn."

"Number?" Rosemary repeats blankly.

"Aye." An older looking gentle-hobbit holding a large jar steps forward. "If you are here for wanting a dance, young ladies, I ask you to take a number from here and wait until it is called." He holds the jar out towards them.

"I think Ill wait until later," Rosemary decides, trying to wiggle free from Lily's grip on her arm.

"I figure there will be long waits every night," the hobbit warns.

"Rosemary, surely, you want a chance to dance with one of the Travelers!" Lily scolds her sister.

"No, you go on. I will try another way." And with that, Rosemary pulls herself away and disappears into the thickening crowds.

Lily shrugs and takes a number. She scowls. _#39_, she silently reads to herself. And she has no idea how long she has to wait. For now she decides to stay close by until it is her turn. Sighing, she tries to take interest in some of the conversations flowing around her and watches with great interest the two famous most-sought after hobbits in the Shire.

* * *

May relaxes and smiles, a very rare event indeed. That large meal really did her in. And being in a festive atmosphere and away from the hole...and...other things, she feels in a brighter mood.

And she is certain that her daughters are among the -- if not the -- prettiest hobbitesses here tonight. She has faith in her two angels. They will do well tonight.

A conversation near the end of the table she sits at catches her attention as she hears her old home, Deephallow, mentioned.

"Mister Gamgee has not come to Deephallow for two months. I saw him the last time he was there. And he wasn't checking on seeing if everything he had planted was growing," a hobbit says, puffing on his pipe.

"So what was he wanting?" another hobbit asks while several heads nod.

"It seemed he was looking for information concerning a certain lass, now what was her name? Laura? Camellia? Hilda? Daisy? Rose?" The hobbit shakes his head. "Oh, well, it has slipped my mind. But he seemed quite upset when no one could help him."

Some murmur, giving pity to Sam. Others, particularly some of the hobbitesses, grumble, fearing that it is in vain that their daughters will try to catch his eye.

May, for her part, is in deep thought. It does not seem possible. But what if it is? Their little Cinder-Rose? Samwise the Brave searching for _their_ Cinder-Rose...? If it is true...she must leave at once. Take them all away. Never let their faces or name be remembered here. Wait. Has not Cinders walked freely about Hobbiton? And she has not been recognized. So why should she fear one hobbit if the whole town is in the dark?

May relaxes again, shaking her head. What is she worrying about...?

* * *

Rosemary absently listens to the conversation which flows around her like waves. She has spent the last two hours being quite bored and miserable. She had been to at least ten of the tents and had had some refreshment. She had gone and found Lily, who was still waiting for a turn; the waiting was now longer, for Mister Baggins was taking a break on the advice of Samwise and his two cousins, leaving Sam to go through the long line of girls. And Lily, descending into a sour mood, lashed out at her sister. Rosemary dejectedly left and wandered around aimlessly for a little while more.

Now she is simply sitting at a table and entertaining herself by watching all the hobbits that pass by. She notices that there are many couples and groups of hobbits which go by. Is that why she is not enjoying herself? Because she is alone? Would she enjoy herself more if she was at home with Cinder-Rose? Rosemary nearly laughs at the thought but becomes thoughtful. She would possibly get along better with her cousin at home than here by herself while her mother and sister have a good time. _Is this what it feels like to be alone with no family?_ The question catches her off guard, and she doesnt know the answer.

Gradually, Rosemary becomes aware of the sound of a fiddle as a player makes their way about the tent, entertaining those who are relaxing here. The music is not as festive or happy as what she heard earlier this night. The music is slow and low, slightly sad at being alone. It matches Rosemary's mood perfectly, and she is spellbound by the music as the player draws the bow over the strings and plucks at them with their fingers.

The music draws nearer, and she turns her gaze first one way, then in another direction, searching for the fiddler. Her eyes spot the instrument and she admires it, for it is made of shiny wood and seems to glow in the light. She watches in fascination the knowing fingers which play, creating such haunting, lovely sounds. She then looks at the fiddler, who is a hobbit with rosy cheeks, reddish golden curls, and green eyes. She is surprised when she discovers him watching her and meets her gaze. He smiles as though offering solace. She is taken aback by this gesture, for she not received such kindness before. She smiles back a little uncertainly.

He makes his way to the table where she sits. The table falls completely silent as all listen to the wondrous fiddle. But Rosemary is unaware of this as the lad continues to hold her gaze.

* * *

"Number 39!" the old gentle-hobbit calls; he is starting to go hoarse.

Lily jumps forward and pushes her way to the edge of the dance floor to the hobbit and Samwise. She hands the poor hobbit her number; he squints at it for several seconds, then nods and puts it in the jar.

Lily turns her attention to the handsome hobbit who gives her a small bow. She dips into a curtsy. The music starts up again, and they join in the dance.

"I hope you have been enjoying the festival," Sam says politely.

Lily smiles. "It has been wonderful," she replies sweetly. She has not moved far from the dance floor all night. Others had gone off to enjoy all the things offered tonight and would come back occasionally to find out if it was closer for their turn. But Lily had no need. There is only one reason for her coming tonight. And she is dancing with it. That is all that matters. "And it is nice seeing you again," she adds.

Sam simply looks at her blankly. _Of course he would not remember! It was weeks ago, and he is always surrounded by many lasses; their faces have probably started running together for him_, she decides.

"One day at the market, you were surrounded completely by lasses with no way of escape..."

His eyes light up. Recognition comes over his face. "Was that you who managed to help me to get away?" he asks.

Lily nods and blushes, looking embarrassed. "Yes that was I. Why you cannot be left in peace without being followed around all the time, I do not know. It is the least they could do, after all you have done with uprising the Shire and bringing life back into it." She looks at him with pity.

Sam starts to turn pink. "Well, thank you, but of course it wasn't just me. It was Mister Frodo and Mister Merry and Mister Pippin."

She laughs, "You are too modest sometimes, Samwise."

His cheeks flame a rosy red color. "Well, I don't know Miss..."

"Lily."

"...Lily. It is a lovely name."

"Just as lovely as the flowers," she states wittingly. Sam laughs, and Lily is secretly pleased with herself.

All too soon -- for Lily -- the dance ends, and Sam leads her off the floor.

"Thank you for the dance," he says.

"The pleasure was mine," she returns in a voice dripping with honey.

He gives her a final nod before turning to the next lass waiting. Lily frowns and positions herself by a tent where she can spy on the hobbits under the Party Tree and Sam on the dance floor. All ready, she starts to plot for the next few nights.

* * *

"It's not fair! I should be the one floating tonight. I spent half of the night waiting. Less than five minutes dancing with Samwise the Brave -- and he didn't even say anything indicating that he looked forward to possibly seeing me again. And the rest of the time watching him and how he reacted with his other partners... And some of them he actually seemed interested in!" Lily complains.

"I doubt that," May mumbles to herself, the conversation she overheard still fresh in her mind.

"And look at you!" Lily cries, turning to her sister who indeed seems hardly to touch the ground, a white flower pressed to her cheek, a dreamy expression on her face. "You didn't dance with any of the Travelers, and you act as though you have just been in the presence of a prince. And yet it was only a fiddler who you graced with your company," she scuffs.

"You are mistaken." It is the first Rosemary has spoken, as Lily as done nothing but whine since they started for home. "It was he who asked if I would care to walk with him. And I enjoyed myself. How much fun did you have simply standing and staring at Samwise?" she counters.

Lily lifts her chin higher. "Well, at least I spent some time with someone famous. You and a simple fiddler. Fosco." She spits the simple name in disgust.

"Mister Fosco is no simple fiddler," May speaks up. "He is a cousin of Pippin Took," she informs solemnly.

Lily and Rosemary look at their mother in amazement. The older lass is speechless, but only until she draws a breath. She then starts hurling more insults of how unfair it is that while she went to great measures to be noticed by Sam, Rosemary was noticed without so much as lifting a finger.

Rosemary simply smiles in amusement at her sisters fit and quietly walks on with light feet. She wonders if she might see Fosco again as she breathes in deeply the sweet scent of the blossom she holds.

* * *

Authors Note: For those who are excited for Rosie to go to the festival, have no fear. We shall see that -- and her reunion with Sam -- all in good time. ;)


	12. It Is Too Early in the Morning for Me to

Authors Note: Yahoo! At last I have up chapter twelve! Whew! These chapters are really taking their time coming. Sorry for the long delay -- can't say I didn't warn you all about long periods between updates -- three weeks it took me to get this up. At least it is nice and long. I hope it is worthwhile. I like it personally, there is a bit of tension in it.

**loveofthering****:** So glad you liked the last chapter. I will also be excited when Rosie goes to the festival. What will happen? I wonder...hopefully a happy ending! ;)

**Arwen Baggins:** I am thrilled the chapter was worth the long wait. Hopefully the story will be the same with this chapter. True, there were probably some lasses who would have enjoyed dancing with the two knights. But they may have been off to some sort of mischief or may have been hiding behind some bushes... Anyhow, I hope they will be on better behavior during the festival. Giving a helping hand regarding all those lasses would be nice. And about Pippin's cousin, lets just say that was a little inspiration from _Ever After. _

**DiamondTook3:** Well, I cannot say that this is soon, but here is the update. Lol

**aragorns-gurl33****:** A new reviewer! Welcome. I am happy you are enjoying this story. I hope you have not gone insane so you can read this chapter. Only time will tell what happens when Sam and Rosie met face to face again. And I have really no idea what will happen yet.

**Celebrindal****:** Yes, the writer's block is still strong but I am making progress, otherwise these last two chapters would not have been posted. Was it a little odd for lasses to be lining up for a dance? In most versions of Cinderella that I have read there are always gobs of girls waiting to dance with the prince. So I just wanted to add another touch of the fairy tale to this. I am glad that other than that you enjoyed the chapter.

**Beanziem****:** Welcome, welcome. Wow! You read this whole story in one sitting? Neat. I hope this story is to your liking.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: It Is Too Early in the Morning for Me to Deal with All of This!

Rosie watches her relatives walk through the doorway. All make their way into the parlor and collapse onto the chairs and floor. After closing and locking the door, Rosie pokes her head inside and just manages to keep a smile from crossing her face at seeing the tired yet glowing expressions on her aunt and cousins' faces. She steps inside and takes their shawls.

"How was the festival?" she asks.

"It was wonderful, like a dream," Rosemary sighs happily and breathes deeply the sweet fragrance of her blossom.

Lily smirks at her sister. "Don't mind her," she tells Rosie, "she's in _love_." Lily rolls her eyes.

Rosie blinks in surprise and studies both cousins. Rosemary comes out of her daydream to glare up at her sister from the floor. Lily returns her glare.

"You're just jealous because you only had one dance with Samwise the Brave," she accuses. "And you didn't even enjoy the rest of the festival."

"I did enjoy it!" Lily retorts.

"By spying on him! Surely there were more exciting things you could have done."

"At least I am not afraid of setting my sights high."

"He approached me first!" Rosemary defends herself.

"A Took," Lily tries to sound mocking; however, the envy she feels at her sister's fortune is heard clearly.

"I did not know he was a Took," Rosemary says softly.

Lily rolls her eyes, but the other either does not notice or chooses to ignore the gesture.

"He was just a nice boy who reached out to me in my loneliness."

Rosie has watched this exchange between her cousins in growing amazement. Never before had she noticed how the two are not really alike. She is dumbfounded when Rosemary looks at her with a seemingly understanding look on her face. A sense of some sort of understanding passes between them.

Lily opens her mouth but is cut off.

"My darlings, please. There is no use in bickering. It is late. And my head is starting to pound," May halts the argument. With what grace she can muster, she rises from the chair and goes toward the door. "I want a bucket of warm water immediately, Cinders. My legs are aching terribly. And some tea for my headache."

"Yes, ma'am," Rosie says and curtsies to her aunts retreating back. She starts to leave her cousins.

"Be sure to bring me some tea, also," Lily calls. "And you must help me out of this tight dress."

"Yes, Lily," Rosie answers. In the doorway she pauses and looks back. "Shall you desire for your hair to be done, Rosemary?" she asks.

The girl looks at her in surprise and nods. Rosie nods back and quietly heads to the kitchen.

* * *

Rosie carefully sets down the heavy bucket of water before her aunt who sits at her nightstand, dressed in her nightgown and robe, sipping her tea. She gets on her knees, and after May has placed both feet into the steaming water, Rosie uses a rag to wash them. The only noise is the swirling of water and the little clicking of the tea cup coming to rest on the saucer. May looks thoughtfully on her niece's turned down head.

"Did you know any of the Travelers personally?"

Rosie suddenly stops rubbing the cloth over Mays leg and slowly lifts her head, meeting her aunt's gaze. She simply stares at her in shocked surprise. May starts growing impatient.

"Yes," Rosie says slowly and nods, wondering what may have brought about this subject.

May peers at her closely, narrowing her eyes, as though trying to read something in her face. Rosie cowers inwardly. It seems as though she is gazing into the eyes of a snake that is preparing to strike. Rosie senses the need to go on.

"Bag End was not that far a walk from us. Sometimes I would see Mister Frodo in town and also at the Green Dragon. A real gentleman, he is. And often his cousins Merry and Pippin would visit him and come to the Green Dragon, too. I was acquainted with them."

"And did you know Samwise?" May presses with great interest.

Rosie cannot hold any longer her aunt's gaze. She drops her head, unnerved, her heart pounding with uncertainty, and stares at her reflection in the water. Her reflection is destroyed as she returns to her work. She tries to gather her shattered thoughts and compose herself.

"I know -- I mean knew -- Sam quite well. We played together as children and were always very good friends," she says simply. She can feel her cheeks start to flood with color, however, at talking about her _friend_.

May is aware of Rosie's embarrassment. "You two were very _close?_"

Rosie understands perfectly what her aunt is asking. And she senses her future depends on what answer she gives her aunt. She swallows hard. Hoping the telltale color is fading from her face, she bravely looks up at her aunt. She manages to laugh.

"Oh, no. We were only friends. He was like another brother to me and I a sister to him." Even as she says this, memories of times past flash through her mind -- times when she wondered if it was only friendship that was between the two of them. And she knows that nowadays when she thinks of Sam, it is not of him as a friend. But Rosie gives nothing away on her face as she looks up at the woman before her. "Why do you ask, Aunt May?" she asks in a steady, slightly curious tone.

May's eyes bore into the younger one's, looking for any hint of information being kept from her. But she can find nothing in the deep brown depths. "No particular reason," she says slyly. "I just wondered if, as being one of Samwise's close friends, you knew who he has a fancy for."

It takes all of Rosie's self-control not to let her emotions -- of surprise, shock, puzzlement, sadness -- come over her face. She simply blinks. "Does he?" she says casually. "I had no idea. He likes to keep to himself a bit." She wants to ask who the lucky lass is but decides against it. She continues to gaze calmly at her aunt.

"Yes, some patrons were discussing his traveling to a certain part of the Shire often, looking for a certain lass. I just wondered if you were aware of his being interested in anyone."

Rosie's heart drops. He must have found a great lass if he visits her often. She remains composed outwardly while she weeps inside. "I was completely in the dark," she reassures.

The air becomes stuffy at the deadly silence in the room. The air explodes at the slight scraping of the bottom of the tea cup leaving the saucer. May turns her attention to her tea and drinks the cooling bittersweet liquid.

Rosie wrings the water from the cloth and sits back on her legs, placing her hands on her knees, her task done. Her composure is that of calm and slight boredom. Inside she is reeling like a leaf on the wind being tossed one way and then the other before making a crash landing on the ground. She is uneasy by the silence and her aunts shining eyes. She longs to go and help her cousins prepare for bed.

"That will be all, Cinders," May closes this strange discussion.

Rosie nods and slowly gets up onto her feet. Dropping a curtsy, she leaves the room. It is when she stops before Rosemary's bedroom door that the tension flows from her suddenly aching muscles. She feels completely exhausted. She senses as though she has passed some sort of test. Whether this is good or bad, she does not know. _I am too tired to deal with this sort of thing_, she muses to herself. She prepares to knock on the door when she suddenly remembers Lily wanting tea. She runs back off to the kitchen, imagining the reception she will receive when she will enter her cousins room.

* * *

The door shuts a little loudly behind Lily as she leaves her sister's room. Rosie starts on the second braid of Rosemary's hair. She clears her throat. Rosemary looks up from her book. She glances at her cousin's image in the mirror. Rosie concentrates intently on her work, separating the autumn color hair into three sections and proceeds to quickly make a tight, long, slim braid.

"Thank you," Rosie says shyly with a hint of uncertainty. "For...standing up for me."

She does not have to go on. Both clearly recall the rampage Lily started to go into when Rosie finally arrived with her tea. The girl's face had started to turn purple as she went on about how miserable the rest of the week would be if this was what she was to expect from the festival and her own family. She had looked like a fish, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly when Rosemary told her to leave Cinder-Rose alone. It was not her fault that it took her so long to come, for May had kept her. Both Lily and Rosie had gazed wide-eyed at Rosemary, surprised by her standing up to her sister.

Rosemary absently waves her hand. "She should be put in her place more often. She is much too spoiled. And being mother's favorite does not help things."

Rosie frowns thoughtfully as she secures the end of the braid so it will not become undone. Does she sense Rosemary is weary of her sister? Of perhaps being the "odd" one when she is compared to her sister? And Rosie can recall Lily seeming to be the favorite of the two.

"I am sorry," she says, this time meeting her cousin's gaze in the mirror.

It seems now they may have more in common than she had thought before. Both lasses share a small smile. This new development between them is so new that they are in silent agreement of not talking about it. But what is there really to talk about? Can both really say why they now seem to see more eye to eye? Perhaps it is better not to speak of it right now. After nodding, Rosemary runs her hands up and down her braids.

"Thank you," she says.

"You're welcome," Rosie answers. She gathers the empty teacup and saucer from the bed. "Will you need anything else?" she asks, walking back to her cousin.

Rosemary shakes her head and takes up her flower from the table. A smile creeps over Rosie's face.

"Let Lily be jealous."

Rosemary turns and looks for real into her cousin's eyes. She raises an eyebrow in silent questioning.

"She should learn that you wont always receive great things if you chase after them. Sometimes it is best to wait and be surprised."

Rosemary's smile matches the other's and cannot keep back some giggles. She nods in agreement.

"You deserve this." Rosie motions to the blossom.

"Thank you, Rose," Rosemary says simply.

Rosie nods and waltzes out of the room. Her feet are still light-footed as she glides into the kitchen and starts putting things back in order and washes the used cups and saucers. After putting them away, she rubs the back of her hand across her eyes and yawns.

As she walks past the parlor, she hears the clock strike four. She moans. She will hardly be able to get all her work done if she ends up staying up so late the rest of this week. She reflects on everything that has happened this morning. She shakes her head. The strange conversation she shared with Aunt May regarding her relationships with the Travelers -- especially Sam. Her heart beats faster at the thought of him being interested in someone. _Who is the lucky lass?_ she wonders to herself. And then there was the incident with Rosemary defending her when Lily started to hurl insults at her. And how they actually are not as different from each other as Rosie used to think. And all this happened before four in the morning. She sighs. _It is too early in the morning for me to deal with all of this!_

Upon entering her small room, she falls into her bed. She will be up soon with the rising of the sun. No use changing out of her clothes. Before she falls fast asleep, she vaguely wonders how Sam enjoyed the first night of the festival.


	13. A Night Full of Stubborn Hobbits, a Lass

Authors Note: Hello, and welcome to the latest – and longest titled! – chapter of _Cinder-Rose_! I know, I know, took me over a month and a half to get this up. My sincere apologizes. I wish I could say that updates will become more frequent, but I can't. A lot of stuff is going on with school so I need to turn all my attention in that direction for the next several weeks. So, I have no idea when I will update this and my other chapter stories; one-chapter fics may possibly pop up here and there. But I am very sorry about this and hope you all will understand. When school is over for the summer I will probably be able to concentrate more on my stories.

My thanks to everyone who reviewed since the last update: **DiamondTook3, aragorns-gurl33, Celebrindal, ben, Olivia**, and **Herculeha**.

Dedicated: To **aragorns-gurl33** and **Herculeha** who have been waiting very, very, _very_ impatiently for this chapter. (Hope it is worth the wait!)

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: A Night Full of Stubborn Hobbits, a Lass on the War Path, Dancing with Cousins, Time Between Old Friends, and Ranting

Frodo and Sam start to rise from their seats only to be pushed back down onto the bench. Both look up at the two unusually tall hobbits that ruined their attempt of standing. The younger of the two smiles down at them and chuckles at their surprised faces.

"And just what do you two think you are doing?" Pippin asks in amusement, crossing his arms over his chest.

Next to him, Merry copies Pippins posture and raises an eyebrow.

Sam and Frodo exchange confused glances before resuming looking up at their friends.

"To the dance floor to resume dancing?" Frodo asks, also raising one eyebrow. "'Tis part of our duties here at the festival, I believe."

Merry shakes his head. "Oh, no. You two are staying right here," he says, hitting the table between the hobbits with his finger.

"We are?" Sam and Frodo say together.

"You are," Pippin answers in a serious tone, though his eyes are filled with laughter at the shocked looks on the sitting hobbits' faces.

"But--"

"But nothing," Merry unashamedly rides over his cousin's protesting. "It is only fair. We did, after all, abandon you two last night..."

Smiles slowly creep over Frodo's and Sam's faces at the sudden color filling Merry's and Pippin's cheeks. The seated hobbits mask their laughter in coughs.

"...Uh, to make ourselves up by entertaining the ladies tonight on the dance floor," Pippin says.

"We'll probably still be surrounded by them," Sam mumbles.

"At least you wont wear yourselves out by dancing," Merry points out.

"No," Frodo objects firmly, starting to stand. "We really should -- oof!"

Pippin reaches across the table and firmly plants his cousin back down in his seat.

"Tsk, tsk. Stubborn Baggins." Merry shakes his head. "You _shall not_ dance tonight. And do not worry, dear cousin. This is only the second night of the festival. That leaves the rest of the week for the four of us to handle the ladies together," Merry assures.

Sam and Frodo open and close their mouths soundlessly in surprise.

Pippin smiles brightly. "Now that we are all at an agreement, Merry and I must answer duty's call. And you two should have another helping of dessert and a cup or two of ale," he says quickly.

And with that and two small nods, Merry and Pippin disappear into the crowd before either Sam or Frodo can get a word out.

Both hobbits at the table stare at where Merry and Pippin had once stood, jaws on the table. Sam recovers first, chuckling lightly and finally gets up onto his feet.

Frodo watches him silently.

"Don't want them to get all on our backs if we fail to carry out their wishes, do we?" Sam questions.

Frodo smiles. "No, we don't." He shakes his head.

* * *

She is the only one at the empty table; her back presses into the edge. Absently her feet tap to the tune drifting across the area from the band. Trying to keep her small smile from becoming a full-out grin, Rosemary, in amusement and silence, watches her sister pace back and forth before her, muttering under her breath, building up into a great rage.

"Can you believe it?" she practically growls, raising her voice, halting her walking to glare at Rosemary, as though it is all her fault.

"It is not really that hard to believe," Rosemary answers, fighting to keep her body still, and swallows down forcefully the giggles rising in her throat. She distracts herself by sipping some apple cider from her mug. There is a blank expression on her face when she looks back up at her sister.

"What do you mean _'It is not really that hard to believe'_?" Lily explodes, eyes widening. "They are among the guests of honor. Why should they not be at the dance floor?"

"Well," Rosemary says casually, "perhaps they are doing what Mister Took and Mister Brandybuck did the previous night. Nothing wrong with that." She quickly raises her mug to her lips again so her sister does not see the amused grin starting to replace her non-interested expression.

Lilys eyes widen even more. Her mouth moves soundlessly. Rosemary stares into her mug, her body shaking slightly as her sister makes her think of a fish out of water. The older girl first turns beet red in the face and then pure white seconds later.

_"How dare you suggest such a thing, Rosemary Cotton!"_ Lily erupts in a roar. "_The nerve...! It is none of our business who Mister Baggins and Samwise spend their time with. The very idea of their sneaking off with a lass and behind some bushes... I did not ask for details! I should really talk to Mother about these imaginations of yours! If I dare find Samwise in the arms of some...girl, I will be very, very upset. Who do they think they are?! Frodo Baggins is free, but last time I checked, Samwise was already taken..."_

Lily's mutterings become fainter and fainter as she storms away, fortunately not seeing her sister burst into peals of laughter which she had held back for the last few minutes, holding her stomach. Slowly her laughter dies away, and she manages to catch her breath. Giggling, she wipes away tears from her cheeks. She shakes her head. _Lily sure has it bad. Out hunting for gold, it seems._ This thought causes more giggles to surface. Gaining control of herself, she sits up straight on the bench, and a calm, innocent look settles over her features.

"First off," she addresses the empty space before her, "I was simply saying that Misters Took and Brandybuck are taking a rest from a whole night of dancing and are spending time with friends. But I do agree it is none of our business who Misters Baggins and Gamgee spend their time with. Second, you were the one that jumped to conclusions and gave details about what the two hobbits are doing. So _I_ should talk to Mother about all these things that _you_ make up. And, third, I do not think there is a claim on Samwise the Brave. And last of all, I would go somewhere and cool off. We don't want you going and making a fool of yourself." Finishing her speech, Rosemary shakes with renewed mirth. Draining the last of her drink and placing the empty mug on the table, she wanders to the dance floor and watches the spinning couples.

She takes a step back as two children run pass and bumps into the person behind her. Quickly, Rosemary turns to find she had knocked into a young hobbit with a mug in one hand. He just manages to keep the ale from splashing on his vest.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Rosemary gasps, hands flying to her cheeks, staring wide-eyed at the hobbit that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her cheeks turn red as three other hobbits laugh.

'Lay off, fellows," the hobbit rebukes his companions. He then smiles at the embarrassed lass. "No harm done, unless you want to count the ground now covered with ale."

This causes Rosemary to giggle, grateful for no hard feelings over the incident. "I am terribly sorry. I should make it up to you," she rambles.

The lad waves his hand in dismissal and hands the now half-empty mug to one of his companions, telling them to move on without him.

"Well, if it would make you feel better, you can make it up by dancing with me," the hobbit says, almost sounding uncertain.

"I-I would be honored," Rosemary answers, curtsying.

Smiling, the hobbit leads her onto the dance floor and takes her hand in his and puts his other one on her waist.

Chuckling, he says, "We have not been properly introduced, have we?"

"No," Rosemary answers, smiling shyly. "I'm Rosemary Cotton."

"A lovely name."

Rosemary feels heat rise in her cheeks again. "Thank you," she mumbles.

"I am Brandy Took."

_One of the many Tooks!_ "A pleasure to meet you," she says politely.

"Likewise. How it is that a pretty lass like you is alone this night is amazing."

Rosemary lowers her eyes. "Do you always flatter every girl whom you encounter?" she teases, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

Brandy throws his head back and laughs. "No, Miss Rosemary; that would be my little brother, Mosco. He will flirt with several at a time. Like honey attracting bees."

This causes the two to share another laugh.

"Mind if I cut in, dear cousin?"

Brandy and Rosemary look to see Fosco coming towards them. He is smiling, but there is a strange gleaming in his eyes.

"Of course, cousin," Brandy answers. He bows to Rosemary. "Thank you for the dance. I enjoyed it very much." He kisses her hand and with a nod to Fosco leaves.

Rosemary turns to Fosco and is surprised by the almost challenging look he directs toward his retreating cousins back. For a moment, one would think he is jealous or something! But the look melts into one of pleasantry when he comes to her.

"Good evening," he greets before taking her into his arms.

"Good evening, Mister Took," she formally greets in return.

"Please, call me Fosco."

Rosemary nods. "Brandy is your cousin?"

"Yes, one of my closest cousins. I did not know that you two were acquainted."

"I owed him." She continues at Fosco's raised eyebrow. "I almost ruined his vest when I bumped into him."

"Aye," he nods in understanding.

A peaceful silence surrounds them as the music from the band washes over them. A happy smile spreads across Rosemarys face as she closes her eyes, unaware of the breathtaking picture she makes. Fosco observes her from under hooded lids and smiles. _You have it bad, Fosco_, a voice says in his head when Rosemary opens her eyes and gives him a bright smile. _Very bad._

* * *

Sam rises from the table along with Tom Cotton. "It is wonderful to see you again, Tom."

"And it is wonderful seeing you," Tom says, clasping Sam's shoulder. "We all were worried about you, wondering what had become of you all. Rosie especially." Toms face falls a bit. "She always told us that she knew you were still alive. And that you were doing whatever job you had to do. But she knew you would come back as soon as you could."

Sam smiles sadly, his heart pounding. Rosie had not forgotten him! She had looked for him coming home...

"Still no word from her?" he asks.

Tom shakes his head. "Nothing."

"I'm sorry."

"Promise me, Sam. Promise me that you will believe she will come back somehow, someday. That you won't...forget her," Tom pleads.

"I could never forget her, nor do I want to," Sam says quietly. I...I love her." It is the first time he has admitted this out loud. Tom does not look the least bit surprised. "I love her so much that there is this pain in my heart cause she is gone. But I hope someday I will find her. And if not...," Sam trails off, not wanting to think about it.

Tom squeezes his shoulder. "My brothers and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Exchanging small smiles, they part ways. Sam bumps into an older hobbitess and apologizes. The woman also apologizes before moving on her way.

* * *

May rubs her temples. A headache is starting as her daughter's whines fill the air on the walk home.

"--look all around the edge of the party field. Behind all the bushes and trees. And I couldn't find him or Mister Frodo! I even went to the edge of the forest. But there was not a trace of him anywhere! He is very clever. He seems so shy and innocent, but appearances can be deceiving. It is obviously all an act. I wonder how many lasses he--"

"Lily Cotton! I will not hear you talking in such a manner regarding Mister Gamgee. He is an honorable hobbit. I am ashamed of you to suggest such a thing. He is not like that," May snaps at her daughter.

Lily quickly shuts her mouth and stares at her mother in astonishment. Never has she been spoken to by her mother like that before.

May frowns and resumes thinking in the blissful quietness. She is now beyond certain that Cinder-Rose is the one Samwise fancies. But what she shall do about it, she is uncertain --

"And so I spent several hours looking for him and all in vain! I was going to get something to eat but discovered my hair and dress a mess...I mean, look!" Lily wails.

May and Rosemary look at the articles in question. Lily's blonde curly locks which run down her back are filled with leaves and grass. The front of her blue dress is covered in mud from a fall.

"So I had to stay hidden the rest of the night. After all, how could I let myself be seen like this? So I have had nothing to eat or drink! I shall have to have Cinder-Rose prepares me some dinner when we get back..."

"Quiet! Please! I am starting to get a headache," May moans.

Lily frowns, glaring down at the ground.

Rosemary simply smiles in amusement. Very wisely, she does not mention that she saw Samwise talking with a young hobbit over some mugs of ale. _Don't want to give her more to rave on about_, Rosemary muses, shaking her head.


	14. Longing Winning Out Over Fear

Chapter Fourteen: Longing Winning Out Over Fear

Rosie absently twirls a rose between her fingers, sitting in the moonlit garden behind the hobbit hole. The heavens seem to entertain her by putting on a dazzling display of shooting stars. The moon shines brightly down on her, bathing her in pale white light. She almost creates a beautiful romantic picture. But Rosie is unaware of the impression she gives.

Instead her mind is full of wishes and fantasies. After tonight, there will only be two more nights of merriment, singing, dancing, food, and fun. A sigh full of longing passes her lips. Why? Why does it seem her desire to go to the festival is a forbidden fruit? She only wishes to have a taste of things she enjoyed before everything changed -- to see dancing, hear music, see old friends... This is her chance to go and have some fun. The festival will soon be over, and she will probably regret not going. But the fear causes her to wonder if it would not be better just to continue to stay at home. The strange tension between her and Aunt May has increased drastically since their late-night talk about Rosie's friendship with the four Travelers several nights ago. Rosie has been aware of May watching her closely like a hawk. Every time her aunt and cousins return home, barely a word May speaks to her but simply seems to appraise her. Rosie knows the wheels in her head are turning. What it is she thinks, Rosie does not know. But she has now become truly frightened of her aunt. She does not have the courage to even mention the festival in Aunts presence. Forget asking to go! Rosie doubts she would be allowed. But if only she could watch from the shadows, strain to catch a glimpse of Sam...

Rosie gives herself a mental slap. _It is no use thinking about him now. He has his eyes set on another. And are you really hoping he might also see you?_ Rosie scolds herself, flushing. _What a risk! Suppose Aunt May or Lily sees you. What dreadful trouble you would be in!_

_Yet_, another part of her mind objects, _at least just to enjoy one night of freedom...of old times would be worth it. And to see him just once would enough. To see him dancing the night away will get him out of your thoughts._

_But if Aunt May catches you...!_

The rose in her hand falls to the ground. She clings tightly to the bench; her knuckles turn white. The battle continues for a moment. Rosie lets out a long breath and stands up, returning inside.

* * *

Rosie gawks at the sight that meets her eyes. The lass before her stares back. The usually curly, shoulder-length brown hair is wavy, flowing locks down to her waist. In the candlelight the brown mixes with golden highlights. The yellow ribbon is a charming clash with the brown hair. Freckles dust her nose and pink cheeks. Her skin is clean and soft, smelling of apples and cream. Deep chocolate brown eyes, with specks of green, sparkle. The yellow dress fits perfectly. It is simple yet very becoming. Embroidered birds and flowers rest on the sleeves and skirt. A simple dress it is -- though making her natural beauty stand out all the more.

Rosie blinks, amazed by what she sees in the mirror. That cannot possibly be she! Surely she does not look like that! Rosie places her hands on her cheeks. Was this what she looked like when she still had a family? When did her hair get so long, so wavy, so _pretty?!_ She would have never guessed that that hair had been in a braid and all dirty not two hours ago. Slowly she spins and smiles shyly. If she doesn't even recognize herself, surely not even her own aunt and cousins will know her if she runs into them at the festival!

With a cry of joy, Rosie skips out the door and merrily starts her journey toward the Party Field. This will be a night she will always treasure. Grinning, Rosie starts to sing, letting her excitement and longing win over her fear.

* * *

Author's Note: A very short chapter, I know. I'm sorry! I updated as quickly as possible. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. Please let me know what you think.


	15. Swirling Colors, Souls, Hearts

Author's Note: Yes, I know it has taken me two months and a week to finally move this story along. I am sorry! But here it is – the most anticipated event of this story. And please, I need feedback. Oh, and thank you all you have reviewed! :) Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Swirling Colors, Souls, Hearts

Rosie stands still, soaking up the sounds and smells and sight before her. She stands outside of the circle of tents, of the festival. The light cast from the lanterns and torches brighten the surrounding area. But no light falls upon Rosie; she stands a little distance away, surrounded by a few trees' shadows. Yet she can see merry hobbits wandering about, can hear the band; and the smell of apple pie tickles her nose.

She nervously draws in a shaky breath. What she hopes or desires to do tonight here, she does not know, except that she wants to be here. She raises her head and bravely steps out of the shadows, walks across the grass, makes her way between two tents, and steps into the middle of the festival.

She blinks as her eyes adjust to the brightness surrounding her. For a moment she can only stare about her in wonderment. Being here feels so familiar when she used to go to parties and festivals with her family, yet at the same time so foreign and new, as though she has never been to something like this before. Freedom -- here she feels free. She can have fun, not do chores, and have a taste of her old life. Slowly a grin spreads over her face; she starts walking about, feeling, for the first time in many months, pure joy and excitement.

* * *

"Who is _that?!_"

Lily's soft whisper -- full of awe and envy -- and painful death grip on her sister's arm cause Rosemary to yelp, halt her searching the crowd for Fosco, and turn to Lily.

"What?" she asks.

But Lily is not looking at her; instead she is peering ahead of them with narrow eyes. Rosemary attempts to pinpoint what her sister is staring at. But she cannot spot anyone unusual looking. Eventually as they continue on, Lily's head snaps around as they pass by the object of her attention. With a lingering glance over her shoulder, Lily turns back, a deep frown darkening her fair face. Her annoyance-filled eyes meet her sisters puzzled ones. They halt walking.

"Did you see her?" Lily questions.

"See who?" Rosemary blinks curiously. "There are many 'hers' here."

The frown on Lily's face melts into an expression of disbelief and shock. "'See who?'" she repeats impatiently. "Her! The one all the lads were gawking at as she went by! Looked like..." she trails off as the confusion on her sisters face does not lift but deepens. "You didn't see her!" Lily exclaims.

"I'm afraid not..." Rosemary answers slowly, shaking her head.

"How?! Everyone was watching her!" Lily turns her gaze away from her sister and resumes walking, dragging Rosemary along behind her. Rosemary follows, not having the opportunity to ask what was so amazing about this mysterious "her" since Lily is still speaking, and for now pushes aside hopes of possibly escaping and searching for Fosco.

To any hobbit that would have spared the two Cotton sisters a long look, they would have appeared to be in a familiar situation to the observer: the older, proud, beautiful sister having control over the younger, meeker one who hardly stands up for herself. And they just might be right.

* * *

"So this is where I find you all."

The four hobbits bent over their plates look up and give their visitor broad smiles. Pippin and Merry rise to their feet.

"Well if it isn't one of my favorite Took cousins!" Pippin grins and gives Polly a warm hug.

"And who else is a favorite Took cousin?" Polly teases.

"Fosco, of course," Pippin answers without missing a beat.

Polly rolls her eyes in mock horror and greets the others. Pippin and Diamond scoot down, making room for Polly to join them and Merry and Estella, who sit across on the other side of the table. Merry suggests Polly go get herself some pie; she declines but is won out when the others also urge her to try some. So it is after she gets a nice large-size piece of blueberry pie topped with cream -- and Pippin helps himself to a third helping -- that conversation starts to flow.

"Where is Fosco?" Estella asks Polly.

"I haven't seen him since we got here, which was a long time ago. But if I had to guess, he is probably looking for his friend, as he refers to her," Polly says, shaking her head slightly.

"_Friend_, eh?" Pippin pipes in, interested, lifting his eyebrows.

"Yes. Though I also wonder, too.... He has gone on and on about a certain girl he met the first night of the festival and has kept company with each night. Mother told him she wants to meet his friend tonight, if possible."

"So," Merry grins. "Got caught finally, has he?" He squeezes Estellas hand under the table.

"Mother sure hopes so," Polly states, a twinkle in her eye. "She has been pressing him for months about settling down. But he insists that there is no reason for her to get excited. This girl is only a friend, and he has only known her for about four days."

"Maybe he will eventually believe that if he keeps telling himself that," Diamond puts in.

Polly giggles. "Yes, he should just keep telling himself that... You should see him when he talks about her. He gets this amazing expression on his face, seems to have his head in the clouds."

"If Aunt Poise approves of Fosco's friend, and has her way -- which she usually does -- I would guess there should be invitations going out by spring," Pippin muses.

All five burst out laughing.

* * *

The fast turning of the couples on the dance floor blends into a swirling of colors and blurs. Hoping his face does not show his disinterest, Sam drops his gaze from the dancers to the grass at his feet. As he lets his thoughts wrap around him, he becomes oblivious to Frodo sitting next to him, the music and laughter in the air, and the rest of his surroundings.

Each passing night of the festival, it has become harder and harder for him to come, to feign interest in all the attention laid on him and his friends. Countless lasses have attempted to catch his notice, crowding around him, by flirting and putting on airs. They try to dazzle him with their beauty, all perfumed and powdered with makeup, wearing their finest dresses and jewelry, and styled hair. But they only remind him of how much he longs for only one lass in particular, who has captured him with her natural beauty and kind heart. More than once, as he sometimes watches the dancing, he expects to spot a lass in a blue dress amidst the dancers, but then he realizes he is here at the festival -- and she is not. He has been --

Sam jolts in surprise and is drawn out of his wonderings as Frodo gently elbows him in the side. Giving his head a slight shake to clear his thoughts, he turns to his friend, puzzled. Silently, Frodo tips his head to his left -- towards one of the edges of the dance floor. Frowning a little in confusion, Sam turns his attention in the direction Frodo indicated. All he sees are a few couples dancing, and when he can peer around them, some hobbits standing about, watching them. He does not recognize any of them... Oh. Sams eyes widen in wonder and amazement.

Surrounded by the browns and greens and pinks is a buttercup. She is laughing with the other hobbits by the dance floor, perhaps at a joke. Her smile is charming. Her long hair hangs down to her waist in rolling waves. Her gown is bright yellow -- his favorite color -- quite lovely. A matching ribbon adorns her hair. As she gazes about, her face is full of excitement and awe.

Sam has never seen this girl before. Just as he wonders who she might be, he realizes his heart is galloping like a horse, as if it knows something about the mysterious girl even if he himself knows nothing. He is not aware that his mouth is hanging halfway open until Frodo places two fingers under his friend's jaw and firmly shuts it. Sam blinks and embarrassingly meets Frodo's eyes, which are dancing with gentle amusement. They exchange a smile.

"Do you know her?" Sam asks as they both watch the girl in question accept a lad's offer and join the dancing.

"No," Frodo answers softly. He pauses, watching the couple closely. "And yet..."

"What?" Sam presses, tearing his eyes back to Frodo.

"There is something about her that seems familiar," he says thoughtfully.

Sam resumes staring at the couple. "She reminds you of someone?"

"Perhaps. I'm not sure." Frodo shrugs his shoulders. Leaning back against the table, he takes note of many other young lads watching the unknown girl with keen interest. He chuckles slightly and turns his attention to his ale.

A silence falls between the two hobbits. Sam's brow furrows as he studies the girl. He sighs; he cannot place her at all. As the girl and her partner pass close by, Sam is bombarded by a thought: _I wish it was me she was dancing with._ Sam freezes, shocked. _Now where did that come from? You have hardly minded sitting out on the dancing and now... You had plenty of lasses throwing themselves at you whom you did not care for in the least, but her?_ A part of his mind bashes him. _Jealous, are you? Of her partner and all the others who want a dance? What has gotten into you? You don't even know her; yet she fascinates you._ Sam silently groans. What has gotten into him? Why is this strange feeling of envy washing over him? Why has his heart not ceased beating fast? Why, why, why? _And what about Rosie?_ another part of his mind asks in a whisper. That does it.

In one graceful, swift movement Sam is upon his feet. "I think I shall take a walk about." _I **need** to take a walk_. "Will you be all right without me, Mister Frodo?"

"Of course, Sam. Go and enjoy yourself. I shall be fine. If need be, I'll hunt down those two cousins of mine, whom I've seemed to misplace once again," Frodo sighs and with an expression of mock disapproval and annoyance, looks about the scene, which is indeed lacking a certain Took and Brandybuck.

Sam cracks a smile. "Very well. But please get me if you really need me," he says seriously before going off.

"I will, Sam," Frodo quietly promises to the hobbits retreating back.

* * *

Unlike her younger daughter, May wants to know as much as possible about the girl everyone seems to be talking about. She listens very carefully as Lily tells her what she knows. Nothing goes by May.

"...Her dress is not as elegant as mine, nor is she wearing any fancy jewels or had her hair all done up. And her hair...it is wavy, a bit unbecoming, I dare say, since curls are the common fashion. But there seemed to be some sort of glow about her. Oh, Mother! You should have seen the way everyone was staring as she went by! At her, and she must be low-class," Lily goes on, scowling.

"Don't worry, my precious, about her social status," May soothes her daughter. "Did it seem like anyone knew who she was?"

Lily shakes her head. "No one seems to have seen her before or know where she's from." She notices the deep concentration on her mothers face; the wheels in her head are turning. "What are you going to do?"

"Right now, I want us to go and see if we cannot find this girl. I'm very interested in seeing her," May says. "It is only a little after twelve, and the festival will not start winding down for at least another hour. It is quite possible she is still about."

And with that, the hobbitess and her very similarly tempered daughter set out on their quest.

* * *

Sam drains the last of his ale and excuses himself as he leaves his Gaffer and his companions. He then lets his feet carry him where they will but does not wander toward the dancing. It is now probably very crowded, for the dance floor is usually very crowded the last hour or so before the festival closes for the night. It would be exceptionally noisy and such.

When he had left Frodo, he had at first walked around, visiting some tents and stands, but everywhere he turned, talk drifted to his ears regarding the strange young girl who had made an appearance. He then was forced to seek solitude and quiet by leaving the festival and walking a little in the unoccupied part of the field. His mind did not become peaceful; instead, his wonderings became more and more intense. And more and more questions came about. He returned to the party more disoriented than ever.

Sam now observes the many hobbits having a good time and the many couples walking hand in hand; he feels an ache in his chest as old memories are stirred up in his mind. He politely nods his head to the couple of hobbits who greets him. He pauses by a tent and watches several lads play a game of horseshoes. Lazily he leans against a wooden post with a lantern atop it and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches them. He stiffens slightly as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Slowly he sweeps the area with his eyes. Unexpectedly, his blue eyes clash with soft brown eyes with a hint of gold -- _her_ eyes. (I needn't tell you whom I mean by her.) Her eyes widen in surprise. A second later, she ducks her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Sam returns his attention to the lads, feeling his own cheeks gain color. He sneaks a quick look towards the girl, who admires items at a stand, and then looks away. Sam nervously shifts his weight to first one foot, then the other. He feels a sudden desire to approach her. But does he dare? Would she possibly giggle at him, or flirt, like so many of the other lasses he has encountered? She seems to be by herself. Yet there are many hobbits about, perhaps also spying on her just as he himself is; and if he did go to her, the gossip mill would be afire, for had not he already heard many talk about this girl tonight? He would rather have neither flirtation nor gossip happen; but there would be nothing to keep the latter from happening, for it would. Sam swallows hard.

Slowly, his embarrassment gives way, and he thinks about her eyes. They were beautiful, yet haunting, with shadows in their depths. Sam frowns, concern welling up. Why should one who seemed happy be...? What had he seen in her eyes? Fear? Nervousness? Sadness? Unease? Was there more to her than met the eye?

His wonderings about her eyes full of shadows cause a determination to burn in his heart, and courage takes hold. He raises his head, deciding to approach her. But she is not at the stand when he turns his gaze that way. Indeed, she has disappeared. He hastens toward the stand to ask if either of the two women overseeing it took note of which way the girl went. But he fails in his mission.

"Sam!"

Sam whirls to find Merry and Pippin coming towards him. "Merry, Pippin," he greets them.

"We've been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been?" Not giving Sam a chance to answer, Merry goes on, "The Mayor desires to see you, Pippin, Frodo, and me."

"Now?" Sam questions, feeling disappointed.

"Aye," Pippin says.

Sighing inwardly, Sam follows the two cousins. His eyes race over the faces which pass by them, but there is no victory. And for a reason he knows not, his heart sinks.

* * *

Lily eventually stumbles across her sister deep in conversation with her fiddler, their heads close together. Rolling her eyes in annoyance and envy, she interrupts them. "There you are!" she proclaims, making her presence known.

"Lily!" Rosemary says in surprise, blushing and jerking away slightly from her companion.

Fosco nods to her politely in greeting, though looking slightly displeased.

After giving him a bright smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, Lily turns to her sister and reaches for her arm. "Mother sent me to find you, Rosemary. It is time to go."

"Already?" Rosemary asks sadly. At her sisters affirming nod, she turns to Fosco. "I must go." She curtsies, thus missing the disappointment which flickers in his eyes. "I enjoyed meeting your mother." It is Fosco's turn to flush slightly; he runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture and gives a small smile. Rosemary takes a step away from him as Lily starts to pull her away. "Good night." She turns to go but halts when Fosco lays a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait, Rosemary...," he starts.

Both girls turn back.

"Meet me," Fosco says softly, leaning towards her, "by the maple tree at eleven o'clock tomorrow night." He pulls back, eyes shining with hope.

Rosemary's eyes stare up at him full of questioning, but she is only allowed to nod in consent before she is dragged away by her sister. Fighting to keep up with her sisters brisk pace, Rosemary does not notice the cunning expression on Lily's face; she also heard Fosco's request, and her eyes glisten brightly and sharply.


	16. The Afterglow Extinguished

Author's Note: Yes, an update! And it was quick compared to some of the last ones. Please see June '04 news on my profile to see what my status is for updating stories – and my attempt to put up one that does not have a category here. :(  

I have revised chapter five, so please go back and reread it.

Thank you all who have been impatiently waiting for the next chapter. We are slowly but surely drawing closer to the end.

---

Chapter Sixteen: The Afterglow Extinguished?

A heavy rain is falling when Rosie breathlessly returns to her aunt's hole. Tracking mud across the floor, she makes her way to her room. Quickly she changes out of the dress back into her old clothes. She puts the dress on a hook to dry a bit before she will return it to the basket. She removes the ribbon in her hair. Going back into the hall, Rosie studies herself intently in the mirror. She needs to do something so her hair will have its usual appearance…and her face. And she should act quickly, not knowing how soon the others will return.

Rosie hurries through the hole, assessing what else must be done before her aunt and cousins arrive. Some of the fires have died out and need to be relit; and she has to clean the mud from the floor, requiring her to go outside to the well to get water for that, and to make any wanted tea.

She goes to the fireplace in the parlor, with its blackened logs, and scoops up handfuls of ashes, rubbing them on her face and in her damp hair. She returns to the mirror in the hall to inspect her work. The result is satisfying: the face staring back at Rosie is the same one she has looked at every day, smeared with ash, as is her wild untamed hair in tangles and covered with soot. She nods to herself and proceeds to put her hair in two braids. Before worrying about the other things that she has to take care of, Rosie goes to her room, puts the now dry dress and ribbon in the basket, and hides it under her bed.

Rosie then goes through the rooms, adding wood to the fires and lighting the ones that went out in the fireplaces. Next, she gets a bucket from the kitchen and ventures outside. The rain has not lightened up as she trudges to the well and fills the bucket with water. She sneezes as she enters through the door and shivers from the coolness. Sniffing, she fills a kettle with water and puts it on the fire, grabs a cloth, and starts cleaning the mud prints from the wooden floor. A few minutes later, she pauses in her scrubbing to take the kettle off the fire. Swiftly she pours the hot water into three cups and adds tea leaves before returning to her work. As she works, Rosie keeps an alert ear toward the door, anxiously searching for any telltale noises warning of the hobbitesses approaching. When she finally sits back on her haunches and wipes the gathering sweat from her brow at completing her task – the floor shines from her cleaning – she breathes a sigh of relief. Slowly she rises to her feet, her body aching from her work. She dumps out the dirty water and does a final inspection, making sure that the hole is in fine shape. Seeing that she is safe, Rosie sinks onto the floor of the drawing room – she is forbidden from sitting in any of the seats, for then she would dirty them with her clothes – close to the nice warm fire. Now that the fear of her being caught has passed, Rosie at last allows her body to relax, and slowly she lies down on the floor. She thinks about the festival, which she finally experienced.  

The last thing she had expected was to be of so much attention there -- which she was! Everyone, staring in awe, seemed to have noticed her. Quite self-conscious and embarrassed by it all, she had hoped to blend in with the crowds there; yet those same crowds had nearly always parted when she passed by. She couldn't understand what was so fascinating about herself to be noticed so. She was not dressed in finery compared to some of the wealthier and high-society hobbitesses; her hair was not done fancily; and she had worn no makeup or jewelry. So what was it that made everyone admire her?

She had wandered over to the dance floor merely to watch. But oh! She did not get to follow through with her plan. She had been talking with a group of hobbits when one of them asked her to dance, and she did so out of politeness. She was nervous as she became aware of the many hobbits who watched her and her partner. Rosie discovered herself being claimed by one hobbit after another for a dance, and so she did not get to sit out any at all.

She had eventually retired to get something to eat, escorted by quite a few of her partners to the food tent. She was even more surprised by how overfilled the table at which she sat down to eat became with many interested in meeting and socializing with her: young and old, hobbit and hobbitess. Because of all the talking she engaged in, it took Rosie a long time to finish her supper. It was an hour later before she excused herself from her visitors and wandered around the field to see what else was going on that night. She came to expect the many stares and lingering looks she received – some of wonder, others of envy – though she did not understand why. And not to think she walked with her head held high and proud the rest of the time she was there, far from it! She was so uneasy and modest about the looks bestowed upon her that she many a time cast her eyes to the ground in hopes that this gesture would hide her and her flushed cheeks from the others' view.

The whole night she had kept an eye peeled for any of the Travelers, but she had only spotted Frodo Baggins at a table at the dance floor while dancing. She had not approached him, though her heart lifted at seeing such a familiar face again. She did not see Merry Brandybuck or Pippin Took. And she had nearly missed Sam, dear Sam… Rosie had been browsing at a stand when on an impulse she looked about her at the other hobbits wandering about. Her gaze halted on a lone hobbit leaning against a post who was watching her. Their eyes met for a moment and Rosie gasped softly, her eyes widening in shocked, joyful surprise and recognition. Even then she reflexively turned away, knowing she was blushing. Her heart had pounded loudly in her chest. Sam! The brief glance was more than enough for her to know it was he. She chanced a quick glance at him and then, bewildered, fled. She left the festival and headed toward home at a fast pace. She had to convince herself she had not dreamed seeing Sam. It had been such a shock – unexpected, but also wonderful. Her heart gave a great leap of joy and flew to the hobbit. What a way to end her night!

Now as Rosie is able to ponder more on the encounter, she realizes that Sam did not seem to know her. He had caught her gaze with seeming curiosity in his eyes, but nothing more. Rosie smiles a little, torn between being relieved and being disappointed. Relief: for she must have truly looked different in her dress. (If Sam did not know who she was, then surely she had no need to worry about being recognized if she ran into her aunt and cousins.)  Disappointment: She had half-hoped Sam might know her and she be able to talk with such a great…friend. She might be taken away from the lonely, hard life she is trapped in. She would know happiness again, companionship, and, perhaps, finally…love.

But how could she tell him? He does not know her…whether at the festival all dressed up or on the road dressed as a boy all dirty. Perhaps how he remembers her is so different from how she is today that it is impossible he could ever know her. And suppose he is ashamed when he discovers who she was? She, who is called Cinders, not Rosie or Rose, but Cinder-Rose. Rosie sniffs and blinks back tears forming in her eyes.

A loud pounding on the door reaches Rosie's ears. Leaping to her feet, she dashes to the front hall to unbolt and open the door. Through the door appear May, Lily, and Rosemary – all looking like three drowned rats. Water streams down their heads and dresses and cloaks, creating puddles of all shapes and sizes on the floor. They are a miserable sight.

"What took you so long, girl?" May demands as she wipes water from her eyes.

Rosie bows her head and apologizes for displeasing her aunt. She takes their wet cloaks and puts them before the fire to dry. "Did you enjoy yourselves?" she asks attentively.

"The same as every other night," Lily huffs, a scowl on her face.

Rosie rolls her eyes in understanding. But at looking at her other cousin, Rosie sees that despite the wet weather she walked through, Rosemary's eyes are sparkling and a smile blooms on her face. Rosie wonders.

May leads her daughters from the front hall. "I expect you have tea waiting for us?"

"Yes, Aunt May."

"You will help us out of our wet things once you bring our tea." May looks back at Rosie, who watches the three women move on, and frowns at the floor. "Look at this floor! Wet and muddy! You better get a bucket of water and clean the floor." May then sweeps down the hall followed by Lily and Rosemary, who throws a glance over her shoulder to her cousin.

Rosie sighs heavily and then gets to work: it will be another long night.

---

"Sam? Sam!"

Sam jolts as he is brought from his thoughts and turns away from gazing out the window, meeting Merry's concerned eyes.

"Hm, oh, Merry! I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"Are you all right?" Merry peers closely at him, a light frown gracing his brow.

"I'm fine," Sam answers quietly, dropping his gaze to his lap.

Merry's face darkens more. "Truly?" he asks skeptically, lifting one eyebrow. "You have been awfully quiet -- more than usual, that is."

"I have just been thinking. But I am fine, my friend," Sam tries to reassure Merry, looking at him for a moment before looking away once more, an emotion in his eye that the other hobbit cannot name, though he sees the distant expression on the gardener's face.

He places a hand on Sam's shoulder and is momentarily silent, simply studying his friend. "Anything you'd like to share?"

Sam remains silent.

Merry sighs in defeat. "Remember we are here for you, Sam." He then retires to the parlor where the others are.

Sam watches Merry leave out of the corner of his eye, then slowly gazes out the window once more, his face full of puzzlement and searching.

---

Reviews needed please!


	17. Reawakened Heart, Shattered Heart

Author's Note: Yes! Another chapter at long last! I had most of the outline for this chapter while I was at camp, but didn't have time to write it until I returned home. I also believe the writer's block is finally beginning to end, so I should hopefully update more often.

I hope this chapter is worth the long wait, and reviews are welcomed!

---

Chapter Seventeen: Reawakened Heart, Shattered Heart

The table is completely quiet, with the occasional scrape of a fork on a plate, and the slight thud of a mug being set down on the table. The four hobbits are barely aware of the bustling activity around them. For now they have a few moments of peace and mostly privacy. But the mood around the table is far from pleasant and merry as it has been so the last few nights.

Pausing in their eating, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin exchange puzzled and concerned looks before glancing over at Sam. His plate sits nearly untouched before him; he gazes blankly at the twirling dancers, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face. He has been very quiet and thoughtful since last night. The other hobbits have had no success in discovering the cause for this mood; Sam has not opened himself to them. The silence is shattered when Sam suddenly springs to his feet, bumping the table, causing the plates to rattle. Startled, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin raise their eyes to their friend. Sam's cheeks are the shade of a rosy apple, and his jaw tightens. He excuses himself and then rushes off. Frodo stares after him while Merry and Pippin look at each other in bewilderment.

---

Rosie glances about the tent, fully alert, keeping an eye out for the flock of lads who had been following her about all evening. She had not been able to do anything, being surrounded on all sides by them. She had been by the dance floor but did not linger; she does not feel like dancing the night away. She just wants to enjoy the festivities by herself. And it will be easier to try to catch another glimpse of Sam without being surrounded by a crowd of lads longing for her attention.

Right now she sits alone at a table in a corner of the tent, eating a piece of pie along with a cup of cider. She keeps her head bent down. So far no one has taken any notice of her, for which she is relieved.

"May I sit here?" a voice asks.

Rosie whips her head up and fights to keep her mouth closed, though her eyes widen in shock. She finds herself drowning in deep pools of blue. Her heart begins to pound painfully, and her mouth goes dry. "Oh, yes…of course," she answers a bit breathlessly.

She watches, unblinking, as Sam sets his pie down on the table and sits himself across from her. He fusses a little longer than necessary with his napkin, and Rosie notices the color slowly mounting in his cheeks. Now she cannot keep a small smile off her face as she recognizes this familiar sign of shyness and uncertainty from Sam.

"Are you Mister Samwise Gamgee?" Rosie asks, feigning ignorance.

He meets her eyes. "Indeed I am," he answers softly.

There is no light of recognition in his eyes as he gazes at her; he regards her with the polite curiosity of a stranger. Rosie sighs inwardly, in relief or disappointment she does not know; nor does she linger on it. She smiles cheerfully at him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

Sam nods and then studies her silently for a long moment.

"Is something wrong?" she asks a little uncomfortably, shifting a little in her seat.

Blinking, Sam shakes his head. "No, I… I am sorry." He lowers his head in embarrassment.

Her heart fills with pity. "You should eat your pie before it gets cold. It is very good," Rosie tries to put him at ease.

Sam gives her a quick glance before tasting the pie. Rosie glances about the tent again and realizes how many empty seats there are at some of the tables; it is her turn to blush. _Did he want to sit here…with me?_ she wonders, her heart jumping in her chest.

Sam sneaks another look at the lass across the table from him while her attention is drawn elsewhere.

He was surprised at his boldness and determination that had landed him in this position.

The festival was passing in a dreadfully slow blur to Sam, his thoughts far from the present. He had been abruptly brought out of his state when he spotted _her_, the girl whom he had been unable to chase from his thoughts since last night. He had left his companions and hurried to the spot the girl had been, only to discover she was gone. He then had searched through the crowds and stands and tents almost desperately for her without success. He was on the brink of despair when he had poked into a final tent and searched the faces without finding the one he sought. He had been about to leave when he studied the tables a second time and then noticed the one lone hobbit seated at a table in a corner. It was she! Victorious, Sam at first wondered how he should proceed now that he had found her. He had grabbed a piece of pie and then went up to her and requested to sit with her.

So here he is now…

"Good?" Rosie says, an amused twinkle in her eye towards his empty plate, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Sam gives her a small smile. "Good," he agrees.

A short silence passes between them.

"Do the festivities bore you?"

Sam looks at the girl in surprise. "Is it that obvious?" he asks, chuckling lightly.

She shrugs. "I am surprised that one of the four Travelers is staying away from all the crowds; you are one of the guests of honor here, I believe."

"It is the same thing every night," Sam confesses, glancing down at the table, "People hope to grace my presence. Wave upon wave of lasses throw themselves at my feet. I crave for this all to end…. Sometimes I wish I could just be Sam, not Samwise the Brave. But here that is impossible." He sighs.

Rosie watches him thoughtfully, unable to find words.

Sam turns his gaze to her face. "And you? Why do you seek solitude?" The corners of his mouth twitch.

She laughs and beams at him, causing his heart to race. Once again he wonders why this mysterious girl has such an effect on him and why he cannot control these wild sensations which come over him.

"I do not often get to attend such parties," she answers. "I have no friends here; so I enjoy this by myself, watching others."

Sam is silent for a moment; then, looking the girl in the eyes, he extends his hand and says, "Would you pass the rest of the night with me? We can just stay here, or walk about a little, look at some of the stands, listen to the band. Would you, please?"

He watches astonishment fill her face. Then a light of wonder crosses her face, and Sam is breathless at how lovely she looks at this moment. She smiles and places her hand in his.

"I would love to, Sam," she says quietly.

Sam cannot look away from her gaze as a new emotion flows through him. She had called him "Sam." Not Samwise or Mister Gamgee, just plain Sam. As they leave the table, he feels as though he is walking on air.

---

Sam casts a look of admiration towards the girl at his side. She has completely put him at ease and has stirred in him a renewed interest in the activities surrounding him. How long has it been since he invited her to spend tonight in his company: a few minutes, a couple of hours? He does not know.

They had danced earlier, yet currently they are simply walking about the Party Field; they do not pass many hobbits, for most are at the dance floor. Sam is surprised by how honest he has been able to be around this girl. She has not looked at him with starry eyes as many have, seeing him as a famous figure who is high above her; instead she sees him simply as another hobbit, understanding that he does not desire all this attention and honor. And he is very thankful for that. In her he has discovered a friend who likes him for who he is, not for what he has done.

"Sam," the girl says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

He turns to her and meets her sad eyes. "What is it?" he asks.

She lowers her head. "I have to go."

"Now?" Sam asks, suddenly feeling very dismayed. "Can you not stay a little longer?" Unconsciously, he takes her hand.

"I must," the girl says, also reluctant that she has to leave. She makes to move away from him, but Sam moves in front of her and places his hands on her arms.

"Please, I want you to stay," he begs her.

"I am sorry, I must leave now."

"Will you come tomorrow night?" Sam presses.

The girl looks up and is almost speechless at the intensity of his gaze. A moment later she regains her senses. "I, I will try," she answers.

Sam is not completely satisfied with her reply, but he allows her to step out of his grasp. After giving him a final glance, she turns and hurries away. He does not move for several moments before finally returning to the crowded dance floor and rejoining his companions.

Now the excitement of the night slowly slips away, and Sam begins to wonder how he could have acted so. Confusion and shame creep over him.

The last time he had spent time at a party with a lass like tonight was with Rosie Cotton; only ever with her had he shared such happy times and deep conversations. But tonight it had not been Rosie Cotton he had laughed with, talked with, and danced with in his arms. Tonight there had been emotions stirred up in him, emotions which in the past only Rosie Cotton had been able to awaken.

Sam drops his head into his hand in troubled perplexity; he cannot bring himself to guess what this revelation can mean…

---

Rosemary stumbles toward the Old Oak. No light from the festival touches this part of the field, and the moon is covered by a dark cloud at the moment. She is late for her meeting with Fosco. She had been glued to her sister's side for nearly the entire night. She somehow lost her sister after being sent to buy a fruit tart for her. She had then been obliged to eat her sister's tart and then head out to the Old Oak.

As she goes on, Rosemary picks up her pace and half-runs until she is nearly at the large tree, hoping Fosco is still waiting. She starts stepping around a large bush when she hears movement nearby. Startled, she ducks behind the bush and listens closely. She faintly hears the sound of voices, but cannot make out any words or identify whom the voices belong to. Soon she hears nothing. After sitting still for a bit in silence, Rosemary ventures to peep around her hiding place. A couple of yards before her looms the large oak tree. It seems deserted.

Softly, she rises to her feet and silently walks forward. The moon appears, bathing the field in a pale light. Rosemary halts, now able to see what at first she missed in the dark.

Close by the oak is a couple, arms wrapped around each other, in the middle of a deep kiss. Rosemary stares, shocked. She recognizes that pale orange dress…Lily! She turns her attention to the lad, and feels the color drain from her face as she gazes on the familiar reddish golden curls Lily runs her fingers through. Rosemary sways, and the world tilts from side to side. She brings a hand to her mouth, but not quick enough to silence her cry.

Quickly she turns and flees from the scene as fast as her legs can carry her. But the image of what she witnessed is burned into her mind: Lily kissing Fosco, Fosco kissing Lily. Tears burn Rosemary's eyes, blurring her vision, but she does not slow down. A sob escapes her throat, and a great stabbing pain fills her heart. She does not return to the festival but instead runs around the tents. She crashes into someone, causing her to stumble. She rapidly regains her footing and goes on, not paying heed to the hands which offers help, nor noticing the person call "Rosemary!" after her. She flies on until under the cover of a patch of tall grass, she throws herself to the ground and weeps long and hard, her heart shattered.


	18. The End of a Dream

Chapter Eighteen: The End of a Dream

"Be sure to make the part center!"

"Yes, Lily," Rosie answers wearily.

As she does her cousin's hair for the night, Rosie sneaks glances at the girl's reflection and frowns slightly. Even now, after returning from the festival over an hour ago, Lily still has a strange, piercing look in her eyes, and a tiny smile touches her mouth.

_Victorious,_ Rosie suddenly realizes. _She looks victorious._ She almost jumps in surprise when Lily meets her gaze in the mirror, bestowing on her a chilly grin.

"Are you sorry the festival ends tomorrow?" Rosie asks, returning her attention to her task.

Lily sighs. "Of course, but all good things eventually come to an end. But I have several memories I shall treasure." An air of thoughtfulness coming over her, Lily absently sweeps a finger across her lips.

Rosie wonders at her cousin's answer and behavior but does not ask about it, and no more is said between the two.

-

Rosie quietly enters Rosemary's room and has just shut the door behind her when her cousin draws her into a long and tight hug and bursts into uncontrollable sobbing. Rosie's eyes widen in shock at this display, but she does not pull away. She simply returns the embrace and smoothes her cousin's hair. She does not know how many minutes pass before Rosemary's tears are spent and she draws a haggard breath. Stepping back, she wipes her cheeks dry and meets Rosie's concerned gaze.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

Rosie smiles at her sadly and remains silent, following the girl to her dresser and helping her undress. While combing the tangles out of Rosemary's hair, Rosie hears her heartbreaking tale.

"How could I have been so blind?" she asks brokenly. "I should have realized he was a playboy. He comes from a wealthy, well-known, and respected family. He no doubt has lasses throwing themselves at his feet." Her distress suddenly turns to calm determination. Wiping the last of her tears away, she stares at her reflection. "Well, I shall not be the fool any longer. Mark my words. He can have Lily for all it matters to me. He only deceived me into believing he was my friend. I have learned my lesson and am much wiser. I shall simply forget him; there are plenty of other lads out there," she states.

She meets Rosie's shocked gaze in the mirror. Speechless, Rosie can only hug her cousin in comfort, tears welling up in her own eyes. She can easily see behind her cousin's words. Rosemary _does_ care about Fosco being with Lily, and it will no doubt be a while before she forgets about him. Obviously she has become quite fond of him.

"It will be all right in the end," Rosie whispers in her cousin's ear.

Rosemary clings to her, her mask of calmness, confidence, and uncaring cracking, and she shakes with sadness, betrayal, and heartache.

-

Rosemary holds onto her mother's arm as they stroll about the field. She peers anxiously about for any sign of Fosco; she desires to avoid running into him at all costs. She absently wonders where Lily has gotten off to and what schemes she has planned for tonight.

Rosemary cannot get caught up in the excitement of the final festival. Her heart is heavy, and no smile lights her face, despite the music, laughter, and jugglers.

"Rosemary, please! You could try to appear just a little cheerful, instead of acting like you are going to your own funeral. People are looking. And please don't squeeze my arm so!" May scolds her daughter.

But Rosemary hardly takes note of her mother's words. Looking about again like a trapped deer, she almost lets out a startled yelp when her eyes clash with Brandy's, Fosco's cousin, whom she had met a couple of nights before. In a moment his eyes widen in recognition and victory before he hurries off. Her stomach does a flip-flop, and she becomes suspicious. Afraid he is going to report to Fosco, Rosemary shakes off her mother's hand and steals away to hide.

-

Sam cranes his neck, searching the endless sea of faces with growing impatience. The last night of the festival has been in swing for nearly three hours, and the crowds have never been so thick all week as they are tonight, and he has still not come upon the mysterious lass. He is beginning to fear she will not come or perhaps – there she is! She is alone, dressed in a pale purple grown with her hair flowing about her as she makes her way through the crowd. Her gaze roams about and meets Sam's. A small smile touches her face, and she makes her way to him. Sam sighs in relief as she stops before him.

"Evening, Sam," she greets him.

Sam smiles down at her. "I feared you weren't coming," he confesses, blushing.

"But it was not true: I'm here now."

"Yes, you are," he agrees happily. "You look wonderful," he adds admiringly. She lowers her head to hide her blush. He offers her his arm. "May I have the honor of escorting you to the dance floor?"

"Of course, my good sir," the girl replies, dropping a curtsy before taking his arm.

They share a light laugh and move off.

-

Pippin slides a mug of ale across the table to his moping cousin. "Come now, you have never been like this before. It isn't like you! Cheer up. You'll see her and be able to explain everything," he tries to encourage.

Fosco looks dejectedly at the tempting mug for a long moment before he accepts it and takes a small sip. "And if she does not let me, suppose I never see her again?" he despairs.

"Well, there are plenty of other lasses here," Polly says. "Don't forget Mother liked Ruby. I overheard her say last month she thought Ruby would make an acceptable daughter-in-law."

Fosco sets the mug back down on the table with such force that some of the ale almost spills. He levels a glare at his sister. "I do not want to hear anything about Ruby or who else Mother would consider a good match," he says through clenched teeth. He then turns his glare on his grinning friends before the innocent mug comes under fire.

Focso does not know whether to cry with despair or roar with rage. He can only imagine what Rosemary had thought when she had seen him and her sister last night… Just remembering what happened causes his blood to boil. How could he have been so stupid? He should have realized it wasn't Rosemary. Had her sister intentionally taken advantage of him? What story had she told Rosemary when she was questioned? Did Rosemary believe her and now despise him? A new cloud of despair falls over the hobbit and he groans. He drains the rest of the ale.

"So you plan to grow to be a very old bachelor?" Merry asks. "Of course, Aunt Poise will let that happen without a fight. She shall allow you to simply be a doting uncle," here Merry winks at a flushed Polly.

Pippin watches his cousin's intense swinging between fury and distress. "No other girl matters? She is that special?" he muses. His face lights with sudden dawning. "You are in love with her." It is more of a statement than a question.

Fosco meets Pippin's gaze in shock, speechless. He has hardly dared consider the thought to himself. He does think Rosemary is special. Could it be possible that he, who claimed he would never settle down, was in love?

Brandy bounds up to the table, out of breath. "Fosco!"

All eyes turn to him.

"I…saw…her!" he wheezes.

Instantly understanding his cousin's words, Fosco is on his feet in a moment, his eyes full of new hope. "When! Where!" he fires the questions as he grips his cousin by the collar.

Still trying to catch his breath, Brandy can only manage to beckon his cousin to come with him.

-

Strings of music drift across the field, barely reaching ears of the hobbits in the quiet stillness. The unoccupied part of the Party field opens up before Sam and the lass as they move farther away from the tents and lights. Tiny stars twinkle in the clear sky. The field is given a silvery appearance by the moon's light. When Sam at last comes to a halt, he continues to hold the girl's hand in his. A long, comfortable, peaceful silence hangs about them.

Sam draws in a deep breath of the cool air, releasing some of the tension he feels as he lets out the air. He cannot, dare not explain the reason for the unusual emotions he had experienced just a little while ago.

He did not know how long he had danced with the girl. He had forgotten everything and everyone when he had gazed into her honey-brown eyes. They had been full of delight, yet he had once again sensed a cloak of bitter sweetness about her; for while her eyes twinkled and she smiled at him, she seemed almost sad. And he had wondered once again.

Sam had been surprised when Frodo had politely cut in to dance with his companion, followed in turn by Merry and then Pippin. Sam had been relieved that the girl seemed to enchant his friends, though he had been unable to hide his great embarrassment when they had sent him broad smiles and winks of approval. But it quickly gave way to irritation when the lass was claimed by one hobbit after another in dance after dance. His jaw had tightened as he watched through narrowed eyes as the girl was sweet-talked by several flattering, hopeful young lads. Finally, Sam had had enough. With as much self-control and politeness as he could muster, he had cut in on the lass and her latest partner and reclaimed her hand. He had been slightly surprised himself when, instead of dancing, he had led her from the dance floor, through the crowds, past the tents, and far away from the lights, music, and laughter.

So here they are.

Sam shifts his weight from one foot to the other nervously as he thinks back on what had led to this present situation. Why had he been so upset at the dance floor? Surely he had been a fool. It was perfectly fine for her to accept dances from whomever she chose. It was not like he had a right to –

Realizing where this dangerous train of thought is heading Sam shakes his head slightly, hoping his flaming cheeks are not visible in the pale light. He fixes his gaze on the stars which glow high above him. Slowly he begins to relax.

"It is peaceful here," she says, breaking the long silence.

Sam nods. "It is," he says. A moment later, he turns to her, his eyes thoughtful. Unexpectedly she looks up at him, and he flushes at being caught staring. She does not question him, though her eyes are puzzled. He is tempted not to answer her silent wondering, to turn his eyes away, a washed in his embarrassment. But he holds her gaze and voices his own wonderings. Subconsciously, he brings his free hand up to her warm cheek. "Your eyes are filled with shadows. What is it that causes you such sadness among such merry making?" He squeezes her hand gently.

Rosie's eyes widen in astonishment. Could Sam really read her that easily? Suddenly uncomfortable with the gentle contact between them, she steps away from him, causing his hand to leave her cheek and his grasp on her hand to fall away. It is she who drops her gaze and tries to gather her whirling thoughts. "I…I am alone in this world," she stammers.

Sam feels pity swell up in him. "Have you no family?"

She shakes her head. "My parents are dead, and I do not know what has become of my siblings."

"Friends?"

She laughs, but there is no humor in it, while shaking her head. "Long has this cloud of despair hung over me," Rosie whispers to herself. "These last few nights have given me some cheer," she says in a clearer voice.

"Would you look on me as a friend?" Sam asks quietly as he steps closer to her and is allowed to take her hand once more.

He is rewarded with another smile, though this time there is no masking the deep sadness in it. _Am I increasing her sorrow?_ This thought troubles Sam, but he is not allowed to linger on it.

"Do you think of me, a stranger, as a friend?" she questions, ignoring his own.

"Yes, I do!" Sam answers. "I do not see you as a stranger. I…it is strange, but I feel like I have always known you."

Rosie gawks at Sam at these words, but he does not notice. "Even though you do not know much about me?" she cannot keep back the words.

"Yes. You are not like the other girls. They do not know who I really am; they just see me as the famous Samwise the Brave. But you do not look on me as such. I am just Sam to you. And I thank you for that," he ends in a near whisper.

When Sam searches for her reaction, Rosie turns her attention to the ground and bites her lip, thinking hard.

"Can I help you at all?" Sam asks, full of concern.

Rosie's breath catches in her throat at these words. Should she accept his service? Should she reveal all to him, risk her heart, everything? Would he be glad at knowing it is she, Rosie Cotton? Would he perhaps be embarrassed at knowing it is her company he has kept these last few nights? What would he do, if anything, about Aunt May?

All these uncertainties and questions cause Rosie to feel momentarily at a lost, but then she comes to a decision. She looks back up at Sam.

"I thank –" she begins. A movement at the corner of her eye catches her attention. Quickly turning her gaze to her right, towards the lighted tents, she sees a figure coming in her and Sam's direction. The light from the moon allows to her realize it is a girl. While the girl is too far away for Rosie to see her face, a wave of unease and fear washes over her as she believes she knows who it is. Rosie brings her eyes back to Sam and tries to appear calm.

"No, Mister Gamgee, there is nothing you can do for me. These last few nights have been more wonderful than I dared hope! Now I must face my fate alone," she speaks quickly, unable to keep herself from occasionally glancing toward the ever-approaching lass. She bestows a small smile on Sam, though she can hardly conceal her nervousness.

Sam frowns, aware of her strange mood, wondering what is wrong. "But I…" he objects, also looking about them searchingly.

"Take care, Samwise Gamgee," Rosie says softly, succeeding in drawing Sam's attention back to her for the moment. Hesitating a second, she raises on her tiptoes, places a chaste kiss on Sam's cheek, frees her hand from his, turns, and somehow, forces herself to walk briskly back toward the festival, her heart hammering.

Sam is frozen. He simply watches the girl move farther and farther away. Her step is firm and quick while her head is bowed slightly. His heart beats painfully in his chest.

_Go after her! Go after her!_ A voice tells him.

But Sam hesitates. He hardly knows the girl, as she herself had said, but she has truly moved his heart. She said she cannot accept his help. She said she must go on alone without aid or companion. Sam's heart cries at the thought, but he hushes it. He will respect her request.

_Suppose she is in trouble…_ the voice reasons.

Sam feels uncertain once more.

_What if she is in distress and has no means of protection?_

He should ask her just once more if he can be of service. At last arriving at a decision, Sam purposely starts after her.

"Mr. Gamgee!" A voice calls out to him.

Sam halts and searches for the source of the voice. He watches, puzzled, as he at last sees a lass come towards him. When she is close enough, he thinks he recognizes her, but he has seen so many girls this week that he cannot be completely sure.

"Mr. Gamgee," the girl says, curtsying deeply to him.

"Is something the matter, Miss…" Sam asks, just a bit impatient.

"Miss Lily," the lass fills in. "No, nothing is wrong." Here she gives her head a toss, causing some of her curls to settle on her shoulder, and gives Sam a pretty smile, fluttering her eyelashes. "I noticed you were here all alone, away from the festival. Are the crowds too many? Are you bored by all the same music and dancing and food? You long for some…excitement?"

Lily knows she is being terribly forward, but it is a talent of hers that she has used to her advantage many times before. She would again be victorious if she wins over Samwise. Never has she dared to make such a catch before. This new challenge thrills her.

Sam shakes his head, watching over Lily's shoulder the girl moving steadily away. He is ill at ease with Lily's questions and wonders what she is getting at.

"Perhaps you would care to take a walk with me?" Lily slowly takes Sam's arm, drawing his eyes to her own. "You will be away from all the noise, the swooning girls, the flattering Mayor. You can relax. And enjoy some different company," Lily purrs.

Though Sam is uncertain of the meaning behind Lily's words, warning bells are going off in his head, and he looks over her shoulder once more. His eyes widen in dismay as he can no longer see the girl. _No, no, no…_

"I'm sorry…excuse me!" He pulls away from Lily's hold and runs back to the festival.

Lily watches him go, full of angered disbelief. "Well!" she huffs, turning her nose up.

-

Sam collapses on a vacant bench and puts his head in his hands. He has searched everywhere for the girl. But just like the first night he saw her, he has failed in his mission: she is gone. And for some reason he cannot explain, he feels he has let something very important, very dear, slip through his fingers.


	19. Awakening

Author's Note: Eeep! Almost eleven months since the last chapter. I've been experiencing varying degrees of writer's block with this story. But I do hope, intend, to finish Cinder-Rose. Thank everyone who has been asking me to continue this and for being so patient.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Awakening 

"I'm sorry the festival ends," Diamond laments, her arm linked through Pippin's.

"Well, I must confess I am glad it is done. Seven nights is quite tiring," he says.

The couple is walking in a huge circle around the outskirts of the tents. Now the tents are to their left and the road on their right at the top of the small incline.

"I suppose it has been for you and Merry and Frodo and Sam. Poor dears! But you all were such gentlemen, I thought, with all the fuss made over you," she says. Impulsively she leans up and kisses him on the cheek.

A dazed expression comes over Pippin's face as he blushes and stares down at Diamond. Her face is turned away in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. He opens his mouth only to close it. He then turns his eyes to the ground, thinking intently. A long silence falls over the two.

Pippin swallows nervously. "Diamond…," he starts.

The lass, wondering if she just saw a dark figure running with great speed along the road or if it was only her imagination, jerks slightly and looks at him questioningly. "Yes, Pippin?"

"I," for a moment his courage fails him. "There is something particular I would like to ask you." His eyes hold nothing but tenderness.

"Yes?" Diamond says breathlessly, her heart suddenly pounding, forgetting about what she had seen. "What is it?"

"Well, I would be most honored if, if you…"

* * *

Rosie walks with a calm ease through the crowd. She keeps her eyes downcast as she goes. A sigh of relief and sadness escapes her when she walks past the last tent and up the small incline; she allows herself one last look on the festival, so bright, so carefree, and so full of laughter and song. Rosie chuckles slightly. _It seems to cling desperately to its final hours_, she muses, turning away. 

It is when she sets foot on the road, and checks to make sure she is alone, that she breaks out into a sprint. Her calm composure creaks, and the sobs come unceasingly. Her feet start to ache as they fly over the ground. Her chest swells with heartache.

She has done it: she has left Sam. For a moment she had nearly decided to reveal all to him. There had been such concern in his blue eyes. Yet the unexpected sight of Lily had frightened her, and she fled, not desiring to meet with her cousin.

To Rosie, the whole time she has spent with Sam at the festival has been bittersweet. They had been like strangers forming an acquaintance, while she knew they were really anything but strangers. Her mind had been delighted that she was not known there, while her heart wept that he did not recognize her.

She will always treasure these nights; they will give her strength not to break under her aunt's abuse. Despite what might happen in the future, she will smile as she thinks back on the pleasure she draws from these nights.

After an immeasurable time, Rosie reaches home. She stumbles inside and shuts the door, leaning heavily against the wooden frame. She gazes blankly about the hall. _Must hurry and change, must change before the others return,_ she commands herself.

It is several minutes before her tears end and she goes to her small room to change. Slowly, almost in a dream, she takes off her gown. Before putting it away in her secret chest, she tenderly brushes her fingers over the purple fabric.

"The first and last time I shall wear you," she whispers wistfully.

Somberly she puts on her shirt and trousers. Absently she braids her hair and covers her hair with ashes, as well as her face. _Cinder-Rose once more_, she muses, as she carefully examines her appearance in the hallway mirror.

Rosie starts boiling some tea in the kitchen and then starts the fire in the sitting room. Suddenly feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, she lies down on the floor and drifts to sleep.

* * *

May drains the rest of her drink and sets the mug down on the table. She taps her fingers against the wood while her other hand cups her chin. Her thoughts are occupied with the mysterious girl whom Mister Samwise had seemed quite taken with. 

She had finally seen the girl she had heard many speak of. She had wandered over to the dance floor and watched the dancing couples with disinterest. Her curiosity perked up, though, when she spotted Mister Gamgee come onto the dance floor. As soon as she saw his partner, she knew it was the lass whispered so much about.

She had stared at the girl intently. She thought her oldest daughter had been correct: the girl was not a raving beauty; there was a air of shyness and nervousness about her. Yet she had not been lacking partners.

May closes her eyes, a fierce frown on her face as she remembers how the lass looked. There was something about her that seemed vaguely familiar. The older hobbitess shakes her head, unable to come up with an answer. "It was the eyes," she decides. But that is the only clue.

"Mother!"

She opens her eyes in time to see Lily sit down abruptly at the table. The girl shakes her head unhappily.

"What is wrong, my dear?"

"That _girl_ has him completely around her finger! I stopped to talk to him, and he was terribly rude. He pushed me aside and ran after his partner." She huffs.

"Where were they?"

"They had left the festival and were in the unoccupied part of the Party Field."

May taps a finger to her lips. "I believe it is time we should head home. I am tired." A sudden thought occurs to her as she starts to rise: _Suppose she is the one Samwise was searching for in Deephallow?_ Before she suspected he had been looking for their Cinder-Rose; now she is not so sure. She frowns thoughtfully.

Lily is surprised not to have won any sympathy from her mother. "But, Mother, Samwise—" her whining is cut off mid sentence.

"Come!" May commands in a strong voice. "There are more important things to worry about than making a fine catch right now." She frowns darkly, then seems to notice for the first time her daughter's unhappy face. Her face softens to a degree. "Many a lad has fallen for your charms, even those who were already taken. Wait a little. I am sure Samwise will forget the girl. Do not give up yet," she advises. Her eyes flash dangerously.

The two rise from the table and go off arm in arm in search of Rosemary.

* * *

Fosco stares gloomily into the darkness as the carriage rattles down the road. Polly's head rests against his shoulder, lulled to sleep by the carriage's swaying. He shuts his eyes tightly and breathes in deeply. 

He had not run into Rosemary the whole night. Brandy had shown him where he had glimpsed her, but she had vanished. Fosco groans silently as he recalls the dragging hours he endured; he had fruitlessly searched high and low for her (yet the crowds had been thicker than before, making it easy for her to remain concealed ), and his mother had talked him into dancing. He had humored her when she insisted he dance with three of his lovely cousins, but then afterward he had rejected her urges to dance. He does not want his mother's matchmaking.

"That was a lovely night," Poise breaks into her son's thoughts. At his silence, she goes on, "I longed to see that girl you introduced to us last night, Fosco. A dear sweet girl. I liked her very much."

Fosco opens his eyes and looks at her sitting across from him. His eyes can see enough in the dark to see his mother studying him. He attempts a smile. "I believe you intimidated her, Mama," he says.

"And where was she tonight?" she presses. "I was stunned to see you alone when you visited your sister and me. And you were low of spirits – and still are at this very moment, I might add. Do not think I have not noticed. What is troubling you, my son?"

"Nothing of significance," Fosco softly replies, returning his gaze to the dark landscape.

His mother frowns, seeing through his lie. "Did she turn out to be like many of the other lasses, hoping for a good catch? Interested in only your rank of society? A…oh, how did your cousin Pip refer to them, 'lower-class gold digger'?" she wrinkles her nose.

"No!" he says sharply. Polly stirs a little but does not waken. "No," he repeats, more softly. "She is not like them. She is pure and innocent. I would have known if she was like that."

"If you are sure and satisfied, my son. There are many other lasses out there. Isabelle can play several instruments. Ruby is a great beauty—"

"Isabelle may have a great talent, but she is terribly proud. And as for cousin Ruby, her beauty is at its best when she is adorned with jewels, fine dresses, and makeup; and you know she takes great pride in her beauty. I care not if Rosemary cannot play, for she is sweet and a delightful companion. And, furthermore, I consider her the most beautiful girl I have ever met, for she has a simple natural beauty, both inward and outward," Fosco protests, an edge in his voice. "I would thank you, Mother, _greatly_, if you kindly would stop your attempts at matchmaking. There is no need for them." He glares out the window.

His mother chuckles to herself and settles back in her seat, quite satisfied with her son's revealing answers. _He is terribly in love_, she sighs to herself. _The sooner he settles down, the sooner I shall be at peace. _"As you wish," she says out loud. "The next time you see Rosemary, let her know she is invited to the autumn dance we shall be having in a fortnight." She smiles as her son sputters.

* * *

Eyes opening sleepily, Rosie lies still, wondering what has aroused her. 

"Rosie!" She hears the muffled call again along with several persistent bangs on the front door.

Scrambling clumsily to her feet, pain shooting through her numb arms and legs, sleep not wanting to let her go so easily, Rosie yawns and hastens to the door as quickly as she can and lets in her relatives.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty!" Lily's dark frown turns to a smirk when she sees her cousin's sleepy face. She follows May and Rosemary into the sitting room.

"Did we awaken you?" May questions, noticing with a frown that the carpet before the fire is dusted with ashes.

"Yes, Ma'am," Rosie says quietly with a small nod. Her aunt and cousins' cloaks now in her arms, she goes to hang them in the hall.

May gracefully drifts down into one of the chairs and props her feet up on the foot stool. Lily sits in the other chair while Rosemary seats herself on the floor. All three remain quiet. May returns her thoughts once more to Samwise's dance partner. Lily wonders how she might be able to catch Samwise. Rosemary sadly thinks about the short glimpse she had caught of Fosco tonight; he had been dancing with a lovely lass and had appeared to be enjoying himself.

Rosie, returning with three cups on a tray, pauses in the round doorway, uncertain what to make of the mood surrounding the others. She expected Lily to least be going on about the festival, but she looks very unsatisfied. Aunt May appears deep in thought. And Rosemary… Her heart goes out to her cousin at seeing the sadness in the girl's face. Bravely, Rosie enters the room. The light rattling of the saucers on the tray makes the others aware of her presence.

"How was the festival?" she dares to ask after she has given the tea.

"Too ridiculous!" Lily bursts out, surprising Rosie. "It was too ridiculous."

"It was a lovely night," May answers calmly, ignoring Lily. "There were more hobbits there than usual. I had a fine time."

"But seriously, Mother, what did you think of the mysterious girl?" Lily asks.

"What girl?" Rosie and Rosemary ask in unison.

Lily sighs and, as though speaking to a child, answers: "The girl whom everyone was talking about these final nights at the festival. I would call her highborn or a great beauty, but she had many admirers. And tonight Samwise the Brave kept her all to himself."

"She and Mister Gamgee seemed to know one another," May muses. "Perhaps she is the one he knows from Deephallow." Her eyes rest on her niece.

Rosie tightens her grip on the tray and, astonished, holds her aunt's gaze for a moment before averting her eyes with a small submissive nod. _Does, does she possibly suspect…?_ she wonders uneasily.

Lily glances at her cousin. "It 'tis a pity the festival is over; otherwise you may have been able to allow me to point the lass out to you and you could judge her for yourself."

Knowing Lily is being insincere, Rosie lowers her head without a word.

"That is unkind, Lily!" Rosemary exclaims, looking over at her sister, her voice dry and a mixture of emotions burning in her eyes as tears start to well up.

Everyone looks at her in amazement. Lily regains her senses first. She laughs. "I unkind, dear sister? You are a goose. You have not been too kind to our darling cousin, Cinder-Rose, I might remind you; though I will admit, you have not been quite as bad as I. But really, must we start fighting about how to treat her? Or…," her eyes narrow, "or does this really have to do with your Fosco?"

There is something, perhaps mocking, teasing, victorious, smug, or gleeful, in her voice when she says, "your Fosco," that causes Rosemary to draw in a sharp breath. She flushes red, then turns pale. Shame, fury, and grief flash in her eyes as for a moment she looks at May, Lily, and Rosie. Quickly getting to her feet, she flees the room, hands pressed to her face as her sobs echo down the hall.

A short silence hangs between the three after the bang of Rosemary's door slamming shut dies away.

"Come, it is late," May says, standing. "We should retire for the night." She holds her empty teacup out for Rosie to take.

"Yes, I am tired," Lily says with a yawn, also standing.

Upset at their unconcern for Lily, Rosie bites her tongue as she takes their cups and picks up the third from the floor.

"Cinders, I shall need your…help," Lily adds over her shoulder as she heads down the hall from her room.

"Yes, Lily," Rosie says stiffly, leaving for the kitchen.

As she washes the cups and saucers, tears of frustration fill her eyes and her throat burns. "Oh, Pa, Ma, Tom, Jolly, Nick, Nibs…" she whispers hoarsely.

* * *

Sam lounges in the huge armchair in Bag End. He came here as soon as the festival closed and has not moved since. He is not aware of how much or how little time has past. He has simply stared deeply into the fire in the fireplace. His mind churns, filled with thoughts of the lass. 

The image of her smiling at him appears in his mind's eye. The sadness shines in her eyes. His heart sinks. How he wishes he had insisted on helping her. He cannot forget the last look she gave him before walking away. He is filled with guilt and worry. Oh, what could be wrong?

Closing his eyes, he recalls memories of the last two nights they have shared: Her awareness of his dislike of being viewed as a hero. How he did not want her to leave when she walked with him about the festival. His smiling into her eyes as they twirled about in the midst of a dance. Her accepting his offered friendship but not his help. The kiss she gave him before leaving.

Slowly, Sam touches his cheek, tingles dancing over his skin as he recalls her kiss. Her lips had been so soft and gentle. So much like the kiss Rosie had given him at Bilbo's birthday party.

The hobbit blinks and tenses. Like Rosie's kiss… Suddenly it is as though fish scales have dropped from his eyes. She understood him so. She had the same freckles, the same honey-brown eyes. She alone was able to stir such feelings within him. Her face…was the same for all its weariness and sadness.

Sam presses his hand harder to his cheek, desperate to remember the sensation, the feel, the weight of her lips against his cheek. Only Rosie could make him feel such a way. Had not his heart leapt in joy when he first spotted her? _Rosie_.

"Samwise, you fool!" he cries soundlessly. "Rosie…"

So many months he yearned for her, dreamed about her. And she had been right before him all along. How could he have not recognized her?

Confusion and concern fill him. Why had she not revealed herself? Did she hope to remain so unknown? And the sadness in her eyes…. He is certain it was not all because of the festival ending or because of him. "_I must face my fate alone."_ Surely it must be because of her circumstances. She was, _is_, in trouble! She must have been afraid of telling him all. But why?

He drops his head in his hands, tears in his eyes. "Oh, Rosie, am I meant to have enjoyed your company for a few precious nights only to truly lose you?" _Oh, Rosie, forgive me for realizing too late…_ Sam weeps, brokenhearted and angry at himself.

He is unaware of another entering the room, great concern shining in his eyes when he sees his shaking form. It is not until a protective arm wraps around his shoulders that Sam realizes he is not alone.

"Sam! Sam, what is it?" Frodo's voice bridges on frantic.

He cannot speak – so hard is he weeping. Feeling Frodo tighten his hold, he realizes he is scaring his friend. He tries to answer. A sound like a humorless dry laugh escapes his lips, and he raises his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He turns to Frodo.

"Sam!" Frodo cries.

"It was she! Rosie was here!" he exclaims in a high-pitched tone.

"Here? At Bag End? Rosie…Cotton?" his friend's brows draw together as he attempts to understand.

Another short strange laugh escapes Sam. "Yes, I mean no!" He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "The festival, Rosie was there!" His arms wave about.

"The girl…Rosie…it was her?" Frodo's eyes clear, putting the pieces together.

Sam nods, another wave of tears spilling from his eyes. "Yes! Rosie Cotton. And I, I did not know her."

"Oh, Sam!"

The whole story comes out: about their leaving the festival, their conversation, his offer, his delay in going after her, she being gone. When Sam finishes relating all, a long sorrowful silence hangs over the hobbits, tears shining in their eyes. Frodo reclines on the armrest of the chair, his arm around Sam again, his head leaning against his friend's. Sam's red eyes gaze into space.

"What are you going to do?"

Sam blinks and glances up. "What did you say, Mister Frodo?"

"I asked what are you going to do." Frodo goes on at Sam's blank look. "Is this the end? You saw Rosie and believe you shall never see her again? Will you go on with your life, settle down?"

Sam shakes his head vigorously.

Frodo continues, "Will you forever remain a bachelor? Or…is there a chance you can still find Rosie?" Frodo's voice lowers to a near whisper.

Sam opens his mouth, then pauses, Frodo's words sinking in. For a long moment they look at each other.

"There is a chance," Sam replies in a wondering tone, a fire lighting his eyes. He searched for Rosie before. This time he will not give up until he finds her, and do all in his power to protect her. "There is a chance," he repeats in a strong, determined voice.

Frodo smiles.


	20. Scouring and Discovery

Chapter Twenty: Scouring and Discovery

The next morning, the kitchen of Bag End is full of excited tension. Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin are gathered round the table. Their plates, heaped with eggs and bacon and biscuits, have hardly been touched. The friends are poring over maps of the Shire.

"So then…," Pippin studies one map. "Do you think she is somewhere far away?"

"I do not know." Sam's messy hair is messed further as he runs his hand through it for the millionth time.

"She came to the last three nights of the festival," muses Merry. "She could not have traveled real far each time."

"Many of those who attended lived far away and stayed at inns during the week," points out Frodo.

Sam frowns and taps his fingers against the table. "That's true. But I just don't know. Rosie was in some sort of trouble and did not want to reveal herself; I assume her relatives did not know she was there. If she had stayed at an inn, she would have had to get home before the others. If she was caught…" he trails off; his frown darkens.

"So frankly she could be anywhere in the Shire," Merry says.

Sam nods wordlessly, frustration in his dim eyes.

Frodo pats his shoulder. "Perhaps we should start searching right here in Hobbiton and spread out as need be if we don't find anything."

The downcast faces of the other hobbits brighten slightly.

"I think you're right," Sam agrees. "If she is not far off, hopefully it will not take too long to find her."

"Do you suppose Rosie goes by her actual name?" questions Pippin.

"Maybe, maybe not," Sam shrugs. He pauses, thinking deeply. "We can ask for a family named Cotton; that's a place to start."

Frodo gets up from the table, struck with an idea. Excusing himself, he hurries from the room. A few minutes later, he reappears with several pieces of parchment in hand. Sitting down again, he spreads the sheets on the table for the others to see. Five sketches of Rosie Cotton gaze up at the hobbits.

"We could show these when we ask, we don't have to say who she is," Frodo suggests. "I drew them a couple of months before…we left," he adds, sensing the question hanging in the air.

Sam gently brushes his fingers over one of the drawings. Rosie's face beams up at him, a flower behind one pointed ear, with her curls draped over her shoulders. His face softens as a corner of his mouth turns upwards; he sighs wistfully.

"These are beautiful," he praises quietly.

When he lifts his eyes, he discovers the others watching him with sympathy.

Merry states, "We'll find her, Sam." Pippin and Frodo nod firmly.

Suddenly misty-eyed, Sam simply gives his friends a smile of thanks.

* * *

Rosie finishes setting the table in the dining room for breakfast. The aromas of the hot food make her tummy rumble, reminding her that she has not had her own breakfast yet. She steps back and waits for her aunt to cast an inspecting look over her work.

May is dressed and ready for the day. Lily is in her nightgown and robe, her hair messy, and her eyes still full of sleep. Rosemary's chair is empty.

"That will be all, Cinder-Rose," May comments dismissively.

"Yes, Aunt May," Rosie says with a curtsy and leaves the two to their late breakfast.

On her way to the kitchen she pauses in the hall. She yawns and rubs her tired eyes. She was up late last night and did not get much sleep. Her slumber had been filled with dreams of her and Sam. She had dreamed that she had accepted his offer of help and that she had told him who she was. Sometimes he had been glad, other times upset.

Rosie shakes her head. Now she must not dwell and wonder on him. It is past.

Hurrying to the kitchen, instead of starting on cleaning the dishes, she puts a plate of food on a tray along with a cup of water. Carefully balancing the tray, she goes down the hall to the bedrooms. Gently she knocks on Rosemary's door. A moment later, she hears a muffled, "Come in."

She enters and quietly closes the door. Rosemary is in bed, her arms draped over her knees. Rosie sets the tray on the small table next to her bed.

"Morning," she greets her cousin quietly. "I brought your breakfast."

Rosemary gives her a weak smile. "Thank you," she whispers.

Rosie sees that her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks have dried tear tracks. Her heart goes out to her cousin. She nods and backs towards the door.

"Wait, please."

Rosemary's voice reaches her as she grasps the door handle. She looks over her shoulder to her cousin. Rosemary tosses off her covers and swings her legs over the side of her bed. She swallows thickly, nervousness sparkling in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she looks Rosie in the eyes.

"Rosie…I… Lily was right," she begins. "Since when you first came to live with us, I have treated you unkindly." She holds up a hand when Rosie attempts to speak. "Perhaps not quite as bad as Lily, but I have not treated you as a cousin deserves.

"When Lily…rebuked me last night, I realized I have not apologized for how I've treated you." A humorless chuckle escapes her lips. "But you probably suspect this is all some trick on my part, having a sudden change of heart," she adds more to herself and sniffs.

"No," Rosie quickly objects and moves to sit next to her. "No, I know you have not been toying with me." She gently rests her hand on Rosemary's shoulder. "Something about you has changed."

Rosemary gazes down at her hands for moment, nodding. Squaring her shoulders, she looks at her cousin. "I am very, sincerely sorry for how mean I've been to you in the past, Rosie," she says in a trembling tone. "I hope you can forgive me, and that we might be…friends."

Blinking back tears, Rosie smiles warmly. "I forgive you with all my heart, cousin." She hugs the girl. "Friend," she adds.

Rosemary clings to her, a huge boulder falling off her shoulders, her guilt gone. "Thank you." She draws back and shares a smile with Rosie. They chuckle as Rosie brushes some soot off Rosemary nightgown.

"I shall get you all dirty," Rosie murmurs apologetically.

"Nay, do not worry about it," Rosemary objects. Her expression becomes wistful.

"Did you sleep well?" Rosie asks after a short silence, concerned.

Rosemary's shoulders fall. "Not long or very well," she admits sadly.

Rosie nods knowingly and rubs her back soothingly.

"Why cannot I forget Fosco?" the girl asks, dropping her face into her hands. "I know what happened, what he is, yet I cannot…hate him."

"There must be some explanation," Rosie says.

Rosemary lifts her head. "Explanation? What I saw with my eyes is explanation enough. And Lily…" she trails off.

"Perhaps you should hear Fosco's side of things. It may not be as it seems."

"You mean like, he may not have intentionally…kissed…Lily?" Despite how painful saying the words is, faint hope comes into Rosemary's eyes.

"It is possible." Rosie hugs her. "There is only one way to find out the truth. I am certain he will not hide it from you."

Faintly, they hear a voice loudly call for Rosie.

Sighing, Rosie rises from the bed. She pauses when Rosemary catches her hand and presses a hot cake into it. Rosie smiles in thanks. On her way out the door, she leaves her cousin with a last comment:

"Maybe the reason you do not hate Fosco and think so much about him is because you care very deeply for him."

The comment takes Rosemary by surprise. She eats her breakfast in thoughtful silence.

* * *

_The pony trotted down the deserted road at a good pace, alive and alert from the lump of sugar it had enjoyed. Its rider patted it on the neck as they moved along._

_The day was cool, and gathered clouds in the sky threatened of possible rain. But steed and rider traveled on with purpose and determination. On either side of the road fresh, new grass had grown quickly. Small bushes, trees, and flowers had sprouted up, impatient to feel the sun. It had been a long time since the Shire had looked thus._

_But the rider did not go slowly to inspect and admire the growing trees and flowers, as was usually his custom. Today he was focused on another task._

_Soon he was passing fields on either side of the road as he urged the pony a little faster. His attention to the road was broken when he noticed a farmer working in one of the fields close to the road's edge. Here was one he could ask…_

"_Excuse me, sir," the hobbit said, drawing his pony to a halt._

_The farmer looked up from his work and mopped the sweat from his brow. Slowly he walked up the slight incline to the road's edge and tipped his hat politely. "Good afternoon, young sir," he said courteously._

"_Good afternoon," the hobbit replied with a small smile. "I'm looking for a…friend of mine. Last I heard she lived here in Deephallow."_

"_I have lived here since I was a wee lad. I know mostly everyone settled here. I might know who you be looking for."_

_The hobbit shifted in the saddle. "I'm searching for a lass named Rosie Cotton."_

_The farmer scratched his head and thought for a long moment, muttering, "Cotton, Cotton," to himself. Suddenly his face brightened. "Well, lad, there was a family named Cotton up near my sister's. Not a large family and kept mostly to themselves."_

_The young hobbit looked hopeful, then uncertain. "**Was** there, sir; do they no longer live there?" he asked with a quizzical frown._

_The farmer shook his head. "They went off some months ago. I don't recall them breathing a word about where they were going to anyone. They really had no friends," he explained._

"_Was there a lass named Rosie in the family, sir?"_

"_Well, I don't rightly know. I do seem to remember a lass or two in the family, but recall no names." Noting the young hobbit's disappointed face, he continued, "Perhaps my sister may know something; she was one of their neighbors and saw them more than I."_

"_I would really appreciate it," the hobbit replied hesitantly. "If you would be so kind as to tell me the way…"_

"_Oh, I'll show you the way myself."_

_

* * *

_

Sam softly puffs on his pipe. The memory of his first trip to Deephallow in search of Rosie faintly melts away. It is peaceful and relaxing in the garden of Bag End. He listens as the birds sing a last time before returning to their nests. He watches as the sun sets on the first day of his search.

Today he asked everyone he could think of who had been acquainted or had been friends with Rosie or the Cotton family. He asked if they had heard of a family named Cotton, or had seen Rosie.

Some he had asked laughed. "You knew good and well I had not seen or heard of Rosie since she went away after her parents died," they told him. Others had been clearly surprised he was taking up the hunt again, but could only shake their heads, pitying him.

"Young Rosie's family is not the only Cotton in the Shire; there are several such named families," some had pointed out to him.

"Do you know where they live?" Sam had simply asked.

Some recommended he forget Rosie. She was long gone, and why should he believe he will find her this time if his last search end in failure?

Sam knows this search will not end in failure. It cannot. He has seen Rosie with his very eyes and will find her, no matter how long it takes him, and help and protect her from any who would mean her harm.

Only Estella had encouraged him to keep up his search. "No, I have not heard from her or seen her since she left. I have been thinking about her a lot recently; I've wondered how she is, how she gets on with her relatives, if she has any friends, if she is happy, if she misses us and Hobbiton."

Sam's face had saddened, recollecting the last conversation he and Rosie had before she suddenly rushed off. If she had spoken truthfully, she was alone and unhappy.

Estella must have read his face, for she had pressed his arm and had given him an encouraging smile. "I hope you will find her, Sam. She would probably appreciate how…concerned you are," she said with a knowing light in her eyes. "I will keep my eyes and ears open."

A smile brushes over Sam's face as he watches the sky darken. "Thank you, Estella," he breathes. "Rosie is fortunate to have such a friend." Unconsciously he touches his cheek.

_Hold on, Rose-lass_, he wills his thought to reach her.

"Sam!" a call comes from the back door.

The called hobbit quickly rises from the bench. "Coming, Mister Frodo!" he replies. He takes a final look up at the sky before heading inside.

_Hold on, my Rosie._

_

* * *

_

Five days later…

The gossip mill is working full force in the market place.

"What do you make of it?"

"Cotton. He is asking for Cotton."

"A _certain_ Cotton, that is. It must be a lass; it always is when a hobbit searches high and low and far and wide as Mister Gamgee has."

"I heard the name of the lass is Sapphire."

"No, you must be wrong. All he asked for was Cotton."

"I've heard he has visited three families named Cotton."

"And did he find her?"

"I assume not. My daughter said she saw him yesterday asking everyone he passed if they knew of Cotton."

"Is it true he carries the lass's portrait?"

"If he does, I have not seen it."

* * *

"And the other Travelers are helping him, are they not?" asks one hobbit at the Green Dragon.

"Yes, indeed. All four of them have been going through Hobbiton, asking away, so I've heard," replies another.

"It's not right for a hobbit to go trooping all over the Shire. They'll fall into trouble for sure."

Several cries of "Here, here!" fill the air.

"But all this fuss for one lass," murmurs an elderly hobbit disapprovingly. "Hardly fits the customs of courtship."

Others voice their agreement.

"But what do you think of this?" a hobbit questions the Gaffer who has been silently nursing his drink. "Why don't you put your son in his place? Or do you approve of his behavior?"

All eyes and ears turn to the Gaffer.

He takes a small sip from his mug. He had been in the middle of second breakfast five days before, when Sam burst in, winded and wild with excitement. It had taken quite a while for him to tell the whole story to his Gaffer from beginning to end, without leaving out a single detail; and he had outlined his plan for his search to find Rosie.

The Gaffer had heard all with nothing short of amazement. He had studied his son's face as he spoke, reading every emotion. When Sam had finally fallen silent, the older hobbit thought carefully and hard for several minutes. He did not care for Sam's travels abroad, but he saw his son was quite resolved. This search would likely be longer and harder than the one before. The older hobbit's heart had grown sore. Sam had not been himself since learning of Rosie's disappearance. He deserved a chance at happiness.

He glances at those in the Green Dragon. "I would not have it any other way," he firmly repeats the words he spoke to Sam when he gave his blessing. His stare books no room for argument.

* * *

"I would certainly like to know what has come over you, Rosemary," May sighs as she drinks her tea.

Rosemary looks up from her needlepoint. "Mama?"

"It seems as though you have become…soft," the other explains, her eyes thoughtful. "You have argued with your sister in the last few days more than you have in two months. I could understand, with this…_incident_ regarding Fosco Took…"

Coloring furiously, Rosemary demands in a whisper, "And what do you know about it?"

"Oh, everything," May says with a wave of her hand. "Lily told me how she is quite taken with him."

_Everything…_ Rosemary's lips tighten. She remains quiet.

"I am hurt you did not tell me," May goes on. "Having two daughters attached to the same lad can be resolved. Surely you can give him up for your sister."

Her daughter stares at her, dumbfounded. Before she can speak, May changes the subject.

"I could understand if you two argued about him. But I cannot understand why your arguments are focused on Cinders," May's eyes grow hard as she examines Rosemary.

Turning pale, the lass takes up her needlepoint, her hands shaking.

"Once upon a time you teased and loved Cinders just as much as your sister does. You called her names and bossed her around and looked down your nose on her and laughed at her. Now, wonder of wonders, you have stood up for Cinders. You've rebuked, _rebuked_, your own sister for being unkind to her. You've suggested we work her too hard, that she needs proper clothing and warm blankets to keep away the cold at night." May stares at her daughter. "Just what is the meaning of this? Is it possible you…_like _Cinders?"

Taking some deep breaths, Rosemary slowly looks over at her mother. A lump forms in her throat, and she at first finds words with difficulty.

"Yes, yes, I do like Rosie."

May's eyes widen.

"I realize now she is a dear, sweet girl. She has suffered our harsh abuse without even seeking revenge. She is my cousin, your niece; she is part of our family and deserves better treatment. In her I found a friend unlike any I've ever had. She shows concern and compassion to me, something I never received from you or Lily, my own flesh and blood. Lily was always your favorite, and I have never been able to measure up to her.

"I realize now I do not have to be stuck up and haughty and proud like Lily. I should just…be myself."

She cannot begin to read the expression on May's face as her eyebrows almost disappear under her hairline.

"I see," she says in a tone Rosemary has never heard before. "I sensed there was something…different…about you, Rosemary. I often wondered why you never turned out as well as Lily. You have too much of your father in you, I suppose. Well, everything is out in the open now and can be properly dealt with. I'm sorry you feel you must take up Cinders's cause."

Her eyes now flash in that familiar way, and Rosemary shrinks in her chair. A feeling of unease settles in the pit of her stomach.

"If your behavior was only because of Lily and Fosco I could easily forgive you," she goes on. "But since it does not… It is hard for me to call you daughter when you do not feel as much affection for me and your sister as you do for Cinders. It is a shameful embarrassment to me to know you no longer approve how I run things in my own house.

"We shall be going to visit my dear mother soon. Cinders will have a lot of extra work to do in preparation. She could use another pair of hands to help make sure everything gets done, and done _well_." May pauses and tilts her head to the side.

Rosemary's mouth opens as she realizes her mother's meaning. She is stunned, speechless. May's mouth curves into a wicked smirk.

"Since you have taken such a fancy for her and all, I'm sure you'll get along. Since she will likely have to teach you a good number of her chores, I beg you to learn quickly. It will not be good if your being taught slows her in responding to my and Lily's needs."

This time she smiles brightly and finishes her tea. "Now that that is all settled and done, take this," she holds out her cup and saucer, "to the kitchen and see if Cinders needs help with making luncheon, Rosemary."

Rosemary does not move, disbelief written over her face at this unexpected turn of events. A roar sounds in her ears. She blinks at the hobbitess who is her mother.

May's face softens. "If working in the kitchen is not the place for you, it is not too late to change your mind. Lily and I will welcome you with open arms, and we shall be the family we have never truly been if you drop this nonsense of Cinders not being treated rightly and all. That's all I ask of you, daughter."

Rosemary shakes her head slightly and the roaring diminishes. Her face now calm and composed, she rises gracefully from her chair and walks over to her mother. May smiles and opens her arms. Shock comes over her face when, instead of hugging her, Rosemary takes her cup and saucer. Rapidly, undisguised fury settles over May's face.

"You are no daughter of mine," she hisses. "Get out!"

Wordlessly, Rosemary obeys. For some reason, she is not surprised when she steps into the hallway and comes face to face with Rosie. For a second they face other, then Rosie puts her arm around Rosemary's shoulders, and together they walk to the kitchen.

And for the first time in her life, Rosemary feels…free.

* * *

Nine days later…

"What is this about Sam traveling over the Shire?" Fosco asks Pippin at the autumn dance.

He has not danced once and plans to keep it that way. The last two weeks he had hoped to run into Rosemary to give his mother's invitation. But he never saw her. And he has been completely miserable, wondering just what she thinks of him.

"He is searching for a girl," Pippin tells his cousin. "This is the second time he's looking for her. The first time he gave up, but now he has renewed hope and determination to find her this time."

Fosco nods. "That's the way to do things," he murmurs.

Pippin glances at him with understanding.

_You've spent all you time pining away in despair. Sighing and moping day and night will not make her appear, Fosco Took_, he scolds himself. _You should make an effort to try and find her. _

_Unless she is not really that important, and is just like all the other girls_, another part of his mind suggests.

_Of course she is important to me!_ he protests.

_Then stand up straight and be a Took! Search for answers!_

"It has been hard," Pippin's voice breaks his train of thought. "Now that practically the whole Shire knows about it, we are getting so many tips and half of them aren't true. People just want a chance at Sam. It is driving him crazy."

"Who is she?" he says aloud.

"Her name is Rosie Cotton. They were friends for years and—" Pippin notices Fosco start. "What is it?" His face becomes concerned.

"Cotton. That…girl I told you about, Rosemary?" Fosco asks. At his cousin's nod, he says, "Her last name is Cotton."

"Are you sure?" Pippin asks, his eyes widening.

"Yes, I'm positive."

"Sam has visited several families by the name of Cotton. I wonder if your Rosemary's family was one of them," Pippin wonders.

"She's not my Rosemary," Fosco protests, blushing.

"Not yet," Pippin winks before turning serious. "I can ask Sam if there was a Rosemary in any of the families he saw. If there was not…then we may have a fresh lead to go on!"

* * *

Seven days later…

May grumbles as she goes into the kitchen. Even with two "servants" she cannot escape doing some chore or other. Lily is finishing packing her trunk; they leave for May's mother's later this afternoon. Rosemary she sent off to buy some last-minute things from the market place. And Cinders is working in the garden. Thus leaving May to make her tea herself today.

"We really need _three_ servants," she murmurs to herself as she puts on the kettle to boil.

Soon the kettle whistles merrily, and May takes it off the fire. Carefully she pours some of the water into a cup and adds some tea leaves, stirring her tea with a spoon. Drinking it slowly, she moves to the kitchen window and gazes out into the garden.

The leaves on the trees are beginning to turn from green into colors of yellow, red and orange. Summer is gone.

But May's attention is not on the trees. Her gaze is fastened on Rosie who has stopped her work and is now dancing about the yard.

"Why that little…!" May exclaims. "She knows about taking no breaks." She is about to throw open the window and order her back to work, but pauses.

She watches carefully as Rosie moves about the yard gracefully with an invisible partner, a dreamy smile on her face. May's eyes narrow. Something about the way she moves, does the steps, seems familiar…like the dances she saw Samwise share with that lass everyone was talking about. Suddenly, it all falls into place.

"Cinder-Rose…the mysterious lass," May realizes. "I should have known…but I never do see her cleaned up and in a dress." A dark storm cloud settles over her face. "Against my orders she went to the festival. And she is the one Sam Gamgee loves." _So my suspicions were right from the start._

Quickly, she moves out of the kitchen. "We shall be gone by the time any news of us reaches his ears," she talks to herself, thinking of the gossip surrounding Sam's search that she has heard.

There is much to be done, and in so little time.

* * *

Widow Willow chats with her friend Miss Barrow at her flower stand. The two pause in their conversation when a hobbit comes by and examines the blossoms. Widow Willow studies the customer while her friend asks if she can be of assistance.

He appears pale and thin. Dark circles are under his tired eyes. An air of sadness hangs over him. Yet she notices the almost determined firmness of his jaw and how soft his eyes become as he gently touches a flower.

He settles on three roses.

"These are the last until spring comes again," Miss Barrow says as she gives the hobbit his change.

"They are very beautiful," he nods. He starts to go off but hesitates. "Have either of you, ladies, heard of a family named Cotton?" he asks, turning back.

Both hobbitesses realize this here is no other than Samwise Gamgee. Miss Barrow shakes her head, pity in her eyes for him. Widow Willow speaks.

"I do know of a family named Cotton, but you might have already seen them. I have a special friend who works for a family that goes by Cotton."

"Oh, the girl who is always dressed as a boy?" asks Miss Barrow curiously.

Widow Willow nods her head. "Yes, that is her." She returns her attention to the interested Sam. "The family is of a mother and her two daughters. Her husband is always off on some business. Anyway, they moved here over a year ago. They keep mostly to themselves. But they are very well off. I don't understand why they neglect Rose in such a way. She has put up with a lot from them."

Sam's heart leaps at these last words. He trembles slightly. Despite himself, he cannot help but wonder at the possibility… The others notice the sudden color in his cheeks and spark in his eyes.

"Do, do you where I might find this family?" he asks hopefully.

"Why I think I can. Let me draw you a map…"

* * *

Rosie and Rosemary manage to lift the second trunk onto the back of the wagon. Already their arms are aching. As they work to load all the luggage, Rosemary wets her lips and glances at her cousin.

"Rosie, have you heard this rumor about Samwise searching for a certain lass?" she asks.

The other girl flushes slightly and says, "Who hasn't?" Her laugh sounds nervous.

Two more trunks get into the wagon.

Rosemary wipes sweat from her forehead and tries to catch her breath. "Do you think he might be looking for…Lily?"

Surprised by the question, it takes Rosie several moments to gather her thoughts. "You, oh, you mean because they danced together at the festival."

Her cousin nods.

"I-I do not know," Rosie says softly. She meets Rosemary's eyes. "Do you think she is the one he is searching for?"

"No, I do not," she answers, holding Rosie's gaze. "Mama said you and Sam had once been friends."

The girl instantly drops her gaze and moves toward the final trunk. "It is true. My brothers were very good friends of his," she admits.

Rosemary follows her, her eyes searching. "Have you considered the possibility that it might be you he his searching for?"

A thick silence hangs over them as they hoist another trunk into the wagon. Thoughts race through Rosie's mind. _Does she suspect, know? Does **Aunt May** suspect?_ she wonders worriedly.

"It is possible," she whispers. She wills herself not to look away when Rosemary studies her.

"Rosie—"

"Cinders!" May calls from the doorway of the hobbit hole, startling both girls.

"Yes, Aunt May?"

"Come into the parlor. I must see you." The hobbitess disappears inside.

Rosie exchanges a glance with Rosemary. "I'll be back as quick as possible and help you with the final trunk," she says, nodding to the item at their feet.

Wordlessly, Rosemary nods.

Rosie hurries inside the hole and enters the parlor. May is seated in the chair by the fireplace.

"Close the door, Cinders," she orders.

Rosie obeys, nervous.

"Come here." May takes one of her hands when she is near. "Cinders, _Rosie_, you have been a member of this family for nearly two years. During that time I have sheltered you, clothed you, and feed you. And you have helped me greatly with the many chores that have needed done daily."

Rosie listens in bewildered silence.

"All these many months I have given you many responsibilities which you have carried out without complaint. I have come to trust you; when I want tea I am given tea. I send you to market for certain things and you always return with them. I have never suspected you not fulfilling my requests and wishes. You have always obeyed me."

Sudden tension fills the room.

"But now I wonder if it is too good to be true. Many servants can become bored and lazy and are prone to not completely following orders, to playing games and jokes, to disobeying." Her grip on Rosie's hand tightens, and the girl gasps slightly. The hobbitess stares hard at her, and fear wells up in Rosie.

"I was hoping," May continues, reaching with her free hand over the side of her chair, "If you would happen to know where this came from, and why it was in your room." She holds up a yellow dress in her hand.

Rosie's face turns white.


End file.
